


The Fascinating Tale of Yasha the Deathless

by cake0412, Terrenis



Series: Fairy Tale 'Vengers [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Slavic Mythology & Folklore
Genre: Alternate Universe - Russian Fairy Tale, Baba!Pierce, Crossdressing, Dark!Tony, F/F, F/M, Firebird!Sam, Fluff and Angst, Koschei!Bucky, M/M, Slavic Deities & Spirits - Freeform, Slavic Mythology & Folklore - Freeform, Smol!Steve, Svarog!Tony, The Baba has a filthy mouth, Triglav!Rhodey, Tsarevich!Steve, Tsarevna!Jane, Tsarevna!Natasha, Tsarevna!Peggy, Zorya!Angie, Zorya!Peggy, post serum!Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-02 21:01:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10952667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cake0412/pseuds/cake0412, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terrenis/pseuds/Terrenis
Summary: Have you ever heard of the Deathless One? Of his atrocities? Hunting down the innocents and burning down whole empires?Tsarevich Stepan certainly hasn’t. So, when he finds an unusual prisoner deep in the bowels of one of his suitor’s palace, he doesn’t expect him to be the notorious Deathless One. He also doesn’t expect to fall in love with him.So, what’s a Tsarevich in a situation like this to do? Free the Prisoner and elope of course...





	1. Three Weddings and One Lonely Tsarevich

**Author's Note:**

> ❆✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄
> 
> So, this is finally my collaboration fic for the Captain America Reverse Big Bang 2017. America Reverse Big Bang, based on Cassey’s (Ivedoneit100times on [Tumblr](http://ivedoneit100times.tumblr.com/)) awesome art and the Russian Fairy Tale of Koschei the Deathless, betaed by the lovely Megan (cryo-bucky on [Tumblr](https://cryo-bucky.tumblr.com/)).
> 
> Since I love Russian Fairy Tales and Folklore (although I may not agree with their kind of politics), I’m happy to present you a Russian Fairy Tale style Stucky fic. Therefore, I like to use Russian variants of our boys’ English names to make it more authentic. 
> 
> This fic will also contain strong references to Slavic Mythology and Folklore, so if there are any mistakes...Call it artistic freedom!
> 
>  But now enjoy my little tale!
> 
>  ❆✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄
> 
> Starring:
> 
>  
> 
> Steve Rogers as Tsarevich Stepan
> 
> Bucky Barnes as Yasha the Deathless
> 
> Jane Foster as Tsarevna Jane
> 
> Thor Odinson as Thor, Norse Thunder Deity
> 
> Natasha Romanoff as Tsarevna Natasha
> 
> Sam Wilson as Koról Samuil, Zhar-ptitsa, King of the Firebirds
> 
> Peggy Carter as Tsarevna Margarita, called Peggy
> 
> Angie Martinelli as Anzhela, the Zorya Utrennyaya (the Morning Star)
> 
> Wanda & Pietro Maximoff, distant cousins to the Royal Family
> 
> ✯
> 
> Tony Stark as Tsar Anton of the Western Tsardom aka Svarog, God of Fire and Smiths
> 
> James Rhodes as Yakov aka Triglav, three-headed God of War
> 
> Jarvis as Head of Anton’s Domovye
> 
> Alexander Pierce as the Baba Alexandrova
> 
> ✯
> 
> Mentions of:
> 
> Schmidt, the Baba’s pet cat
> 
> Zola, the Baba’s pet pig
> 
> Krasnaya Khizhina - the Baba’s beloved Hut on chicken legs
> 
> Brock “Robber the Nightingale” Rumlow and his men
> 
> Tsarina Sarah
> 
> Morena, Yasha’s mother and Goddess of Winter and Death
> 
> Czernobog, Yasha’s father and the Black God
> 
> Dazhbog, Sun God and Anzhela’s father
> 
> The island of Bouyan, home of the Slavic Gods
> 
> Simargl, the doomsday hound
> 
> ❆✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄

**The Fascinating Tale of Yasha the Deathless **

****

**By Terrenis**

**Art by Ivedoneit100times**

**Beta by Cryo-Bucky**

 ❆✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄

Part 1: Three Weddings and One Lonely Tsarevich

 

Once upon a time, long before Russia became the Great Empire, it was divided into many smaller Tsardoms that existed side by side - most of the time even peacefully.

The three most important of them were the Tsardom of Sil’no in the west with its golden acres and deep woods, the snow-covered Tsardom of Zimnii Morje in the north and the mountainous Tsardom of Bruklin in the middle.

But there came a day, when the tsar of the Tsardom of Sil'no started a vendetta against Zimnii Morje. The battles were long and ruthless, since both Tsars were strong warriors in their own rights and refused to surrender to the other.

And so the two Tsardoms held a vendetta and were at war for more than two decades. However as suddenly as it had begun, the fighting stopped. After Sil’no’s last attack, Zimnii Morje’s Tsar vanished without a trace. The only proof that he had been there was his blood-covered left arm on the battlefield.

But that wasn’t even the strangest thing to happen.

When Sil’no’s Tsar tried to enter and claim Zimnii Morje - he simply couldn’t.

An icy, impenetrable wall had appeared around Zimnii Morje, where it bordered Sil’no and Bruklin, stopping anyone from trespassing. The Tsar of Sil’no swore and raged at the Gods, but to no avail. The Gods told him that only the Tsar of the Winter Tsardom would be able to enter his realm again, but since he was missing…

It meant that the War had been futile and just a waste of precious time on Sil’no’s side.

In the end, the Tsar and his army were forced to comply and to return to their own Tsardom.

In the years following the war, most people started to whisper, whenever they saw the ice wall glittering on the horizon. Said that it was cursed and that it was a penance for disobeying the gods.

Whispering turned into rumours of a cursed tsar, an immortal sitting on a throne made of his enemies’ bones.

Now, over two centuries later, those rumours had become a legend.

The Legend of Yasha the Deathless.

❆✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄

 While Zimnii Morje became the stuff of myths and Sil’no isolated itself so much that it almost suffered the same fate, Bruklin continued to grow through the centuries into a flourishing and peaceful tsardom.

The latter was Bruklin’s most important goal. After all, most of his rulers still remembered the situation during the neighbouring tsardom’s war and how it had affected their own. They certainly didn’t want a repeat. So they did everything in their power to keep their people happy and the people loved them for that.

Tsarina Sarah was especially loved by them, as someone who didn’t take shit from anyone who tried to undermine her authority. She was a very modern and open-minded woman, trying her best to get people to think the way she did.

When she died, she left four children behind - three daughter and a son.

Stepan, her only son, was with his 24 years the eldest of Sarah’s children and at an age when most of his fellow Tsareviches were leaving their homes to slay dragons or other beasts to win a fair maiden’s heart. But then, Stepan wasn’t your average tsarevich. At least he had the same fair hair and blue eyes like his mother.

But where others were muscular and tall, he was small and wiry. Where others loved weapons and horses, Stepan loved art and books. Only that didn’t mean that he didn’t get into fights.

His outer demeanour only served as a facade for a highly developed hot-headed streak. More than once, his sisters had to pull him out of a fight with the local bullies, who either had insulted him, his mother, his sisters or some other innocent kid.

Tsarevna Jane was Sarah’s oldest daughter. Being twenty years old with long nut-brown hair and eyes of the same colour, Jane had no interest in sewing or stitching. Her heart beat for the stars and the secrets they were hiding.

Almost every night she would sneak out of the palace, which was located on the plateau of a table mountain, and into the Royal Gardens, where she’d lay and watch the sky with fascination.

The Tsarevnas Natasha and Margarita, who everyone called Peggy, were Sarah’s youngest daughters and non-identical twins, whereby Natasha was a few minutes older than Peggy. As  different as their appearance was - Natasha with her fire red hair and intense green eyes and Peggy with her chestnut coloured hair and her warm eyes -  so similar were their character traits and interests.

Both of them were tomboys and loved to fight like the boys from the village, whom they grew up playing with, when they were younger. Now, at an age of eighteen, they rather trained with the guards or Wanda, the three sisters teacher and distant cousin.

Wanda and her brother Pietro had been taken in by Sarah after their parents, a distant relative of the Tsarina, had been killed during an ambush by Nightingale the Robber. Ever since then, Wanda had been the girls’ tutor, teaching them writing, reading, sciences and fighting with various weapons, while Pietro made it to Head of the Royal Guards.

After the Tsarina’s death, life in Bruklin came to a halt for several weeks. Everyone was heartbroken that their beloved ruler was gone, but it was the worst for the siblings.

 

Stepan had to take the throne just a few days after his mother’s death, since he was the eldest– a burden that weighed heavily on his shoulders. However it was a burden he was willing to take, if only to make his late mother happy, wherever she was. And momentarily he was only acting as a prince regent, since he only would become a full fledged tsar, when he finally found someone to marry. Which wasn’t exactly easy with him preferring  maidens and males both.

And so more than six months went by and with each passing day, the hurt of Sarah’s absence became a little less.

One sunny day in the first month of spring, Stepan and his sisters spent the time after dinner in the Royal Garden, lounging near a pavilion at the largest of the small ponds there. Stepan enjoyed one of his now rare free afternoons reading a book from his private library, while sitting on a blanket next to the picnic basket his sisters had forced him to bring from the kitchen.

Jane was wearing her favourite pale lavender sarafan dress and sitting next to him, several lenses and pipes of various sizes in her lap as well as some tools which she had borrowed from the Royal Smith to use them to build her new telescope.

A few metres away, their younger twin sisters were engrossed in a mock sword fight with Wanda, the blades ringing out whenever steel met steel. Natasha’s royal blue and Peggy’s green dress whirled around their feet, while they danced back and forth to duck Wanda’s attacks.

The older woman, dressed in red, had just started a new attack on the twins, when a sudden gust of wind lifted her long plait upward and she automatically used her free hand to catch it. Natasha and Peggy used that opportunity to strike back. To avoid the sharp blades, Wanda took a step back, but stumbled over her dress and fell on her butt. When she looked up, her brown eyes faced the tips of the twin’s blades.

Holding up her hands, she smiled and said:

“Okay, I give up. You win.”

Peggy and Natasha cheered and gave each other fist bumps, before they threw their weapons away and helped Wanda getting up.

“Thanks!” Wanda replied and smoothed the wrinkles of her dress, before she looked back at her protégées, a mischievous grin on her face.

Natasha and Peggy looked with wide eyes at her and then at each other, knowing what was about to come now. They squeaked and started running around the edge of the pond.

“You better run, yeye dva.” Wanda sing-songed before she chased after them.

Stepan, who had watched his sisters in the last few minutes, smiled at their antics and shook his head. He was glad to see that his siblings were faring better than they had after the funeral. It had been a hard time for them all, but now he could see that the worst was over.

The small tsarevich turned his attention back to his book, when another gust of wind hit him with full force, forcing its way under his grey tunic and making him shudder. He looked upwards at the suddenly not so sunny sky and frowned.

Where there had been an azure sky just moments ago, there were now dark storm clouds gathering. Stepan could hear the distant rumble of thunder and see a sheet of lightning on the horizon. The temperature dropped noticeably and the speed of the normally moderate wind increased by the second, until it turned into a downright storm, forcing Stepan and Jane to seek shelter in the pavilion.

From there, Stepan could see Wanda shielding Natasha and Peggy from flying branches, her plaits being toyed with by the wind. Loud thunder shook the sky and lightning streaks split the sky, before it flashed brightly and a thunderbolt hit the ground with a deafening sound.

The women, and even Stepan, couldn’t help but let out a shriek, when the ground was burnt in front of their eyes. To everyone’s surprise, the storm vanished as quickly as it had come and where the thunderbolt had hit the ground, a man had appeared, kneeling on one knee.

From what Stepan could see, the man was clearly not from around. He had shoulder-length, dark blonde hair with some of it braided behind his ears and a beard of the same colour. He was wearing a silver, shining full body armour and a long red cape. The strangest thing by far was the huge hammer, which his right hand was gripping tightly.

Stepan took a deep breath and slowly stepped out of the pavilion, Jane staying behind him. The strange man didn’t move until he had the Tsarevich within eyesight. Only then he heaved himself up and bowed deeply.

“Greetings, Stepan Sarasson, Ruler of this realm. I am Thor, God of Thunder and Son of Odin, King of the Northern Gods. I’ve travelled a long way from my home Asgard to ask for the hand of your sister Jane.” The man, no, Thor greeted him.

Stepan raised his eyebrows. Northern Gods? Well, his mother had told them stories about the different pantheons. But those had been just stories. Right? This man surely couldn’t be one of those gods.

Behind him, Jane punched his shoulder and hissed into his right ear: “ Say something, Stepan!” The tsarevich winced at the painful impact with his bony shoulder, but then cleared his throat and took another step forwards.

“Riiiiight…Well, welcome to our humble tsardom, Prince Thor. I hope you had no troubles on your way here. As for my sister…We live in a modern realm and she’s her own person. If she agrees to give you her hand in marriage, then I won’t say njet.” He retorted.

Thor’s eyes shot up and he looked at Stepan questioningly, before turning his gaze at Jane, who blushed, when she felt the God’s gaze upon her.

“I must say this is very unusual for your realm, but not for us on Asgard.” Thor gave as a reply. Then he turned to Jane, who had stepped forward from behind her brother, and took her right hand.

“Milady, I’ve travelled through five realms to meet you and I’d be honoured if you would agree to be my wife!” The Norse God asked, pressing a kiss on her hand .

Jane blushed, then cleared her throat. Thor was a really charming man, she had to admit. But she would not agree to this before he could give her an important answer.

“Well, before I say yes, I have a really important question. On this Asgard, do you have instruments to watch the stars? You must know that I love watching them.” She more or less blurted out.

Thor stared at her and then his gaze fell on the scattered lenses and tools on the blanket. He chuckled and a slight rumble could be heard in the clouds above.

“Surely we have what you desire. And there are a lot more stars there for you to admire. Of course…” Thor paused and also took Jane’s other hand. “…you are the most beautiful star. So, are you going to say yes?”

Jane looked at her brother, then at her two sisters and Wanda, who looked expectantly at her. She took a deep breath and replied:

“Well, then…Yes, I accept.” Jane breathed. Thor’s face lit up and squeezed her hands, while the twins and her tutor cheered loudly and joined them shortly after. Stepan had difficulties to calm them down.

“Okay, girls. If you’re done cheering, maybe I could say something?” he all but shouted.

Immediately, everyone became silent. Stepan sighed and turned to soon-to-be brother-in-law. “Since it seems like we’re going to related soon, I have only one condition.”

“Which is?” Thor demanded to know.

“You have to stay here until the wedding, so you and Jane can get to know each other.” Stepan stated.

“I guess this is a very acceptable condition.” Thor agreed.

Stepan hummed agreeingly and clapped his hands together.

“Great. So why don’t we head inside? I need to change and inform Pietro that we have a guest.” He said with a look at his dirty tunic.

The siblings quickly packed their things together, Thor taking Jane’s things, and headed inside for dinner.

❄✯❄

Much to everyone’s surprise, Thor turned to be a very entertaining fellow, besides his rough demeanor and stormy appearance. After a small dinner together, they had retreated to the Family Room, where the God entertained them with stories from his encounter with strange beasts and his travels to exotic lands that Stepan and his sisters never had heard of.

The small Tsarevich itched to draw the dragons and people Thor was talking about. He looked around and saw his sisters listening with eagerness. For a moment, he wished that his mother could be with them right now. She’d have loved them, too.

Stepan sighed quietly and stood up. He needed some fresh air before he started crying in front of Thor. Not that he was ashamed of it, but it had been a long day and only now he was slowly beginning to realize that things were about to change. His sister was getting married and leaving her home forever.

The small blond’s feet carried him outside on the adjacent terrace that led to the Garden. Leaning against the elaborately carved railing, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling the cool evening deep into his lungs and letting his mind wander...

Until shrill bird cries pulled him out of his train of thoughts. He opened his eyes wide and looked around for the source of the noise. Behind the trees at the ponds, the night sky was suddenly bright as the day, a golden light that was becoming stronger by the second. By the end, it was so blinding that Stepan had to cover his eyes.

He could hear the rustling of feathers nearby and briefly wondered what kind of bird was approaching him. Finally, the light grew dim and so Stepan dared to take his hand from his eyes. What he saw, left him speechless.

In front of him sat a large bird with a majestic plumage glowing brightly emitting red, orange and yellow light. On its head was a crest held by a small golden crown. But the most noticeable thing were the long tail feathers with what looked like glowing eyes and the mischievous expression in the bird’s brown eyes.

Stepan barely suppressed a gasp. It was a Zhar-ptitsa. A real firebird in front of him.

The Zhar-ptitsa bowed his head and began to glow brightly anew that Stepan had to close his eyes. When he opened them again, the firebird had changed his form. Instead of the bird, a dark-skinned man stood there. He was wearing a red caftan with glowing golden embroideries and trousers of the same colour as well as brown boots. Covering his shoulders was a long orange cape with a glowing eye on it. On his head rested a not so fancy golden crown.

The man bowed again and sent him a reassuring smile, which revealed an admittedly cute tooth gap. 

Stepan took a deep breath, holding out his hand.

“Well, that was unexpected. And who are if I may ask? Are you here to scare me? Because I certainly hope you aren’t.” He managed to get out.

The man chuckled and shook Stepan’s bony hand.

“No, I’m not. My name is Samuil, Koról of the Zhar-ptitsa. But you can me Sam. And no, i’m not here to scare you out of your mind. Actually I’m here to ask you for the hand of your sister Natasha.”

It was then that Stepan almost fainted. Two suitors in the course of one afternoon? And magical ones, too? That was almost too much for him. But luckily he was able to pull himself together, before it was too late. There was something about Sam that made him trust the king. Something in his gut told him that Natasha wouldn’t mind if he gave his blessing.

“Well, you still have to ask her yourself, but you have my blessing. However, just under the condition that you stay here until the Wedding.” he declared.

Sam let out a musical laugh.

“I think that’s manageable, Stepan...Can I call you Stepan?” he asked.

Now Stepan had to laugh about the absurdity of the moment.

“Sure. Why not? It’s not like we’re not going to be related very soon. It’s just...Now all that’s missing is a suitor for Peggy.” he all but hysterically laughed.

As if the sky had heard him, one of the stars above intensified his starlight, building a bridge made of pure light towards Stepan’s and Sam’s location. When it touched the ground, a veil made of myriads of glittering stars slowly sailed down to them.

With wide eyes watched the tsarevich as the veil assumed the shape of a brunette young woman wearing rich golden robes combined with a formfitting harness. A long glittering veil covered her long thick plait and was held by a simple golden kokoshnik tiara with beautiful filigrees, which matched the earrings in her earlobes perfectly. Her gloved right hand rested on the decorative hilt of her shashka that was fastened around her hip.

Stepan stared in awe at her, while Sam’s face lit up, glowing slightly.

“Angie! Why didn’t you tell me that you were coming here? We could have made the trip together.” he exclaimed, stepped forward and gave her a friendly hug.

“Ah, you know...duties. Couldn’t get here before Otjets has driven through the gates.” the woman answered after she let go of him.

Sam snickered.

“Tell me about it!” he responded.

The woman only laughed at that.

The small Tsarevich watched their exchange with wonder. Sam and the woman must have known each other for a long time to have that level of friendship.

“Sorry, if I disturb your reunion, but I guess you’re here for Peggy?” Stepan interrupted them, looking first at Sam and then at her. The woman nodded and held out her gloved hand to Stepan, who took it and shook it.

“I am Anzhela, the Zorya Utrennyaya. And yes, I’m here for your sister Margarita.”

Stepan was impressed. The Morning Star was here for Peggy?

“Well, don’t let her hear you call that, Morning Star. She hates that name. Better call her Peggy. Are you sure you can stay until the wedding? Because that would be my only condition if you really want to marry her.”

Anzhela eyed him.

“This will not be a problem.” she stated. Holding up a hand, she directed her blue gaze towards the night sky. “Just need to arrange something.”

The Morning Star stared for several moments at the stars, clearly communicating with someone up there, without saying a word though.

“What is she doing?” Stepan whispered to Sam.

“Probably getting someone to take over her duties, as long as she is here.” the firebird explained.

“And what exactly are her duties?”

“Well, do you know Simargl?” Sam asked the tsarevich.

Stepan nodded.

“Who doesn’t know the doomsday hound chained to Polaris?” he retorted.

“Since she is Dažbog’s daughter, Anzhela is not only the Morning Star, but also Simargl’s guardian to make sure he doesn’t get loose. Or else…” Sam elucidated, only to be cut off by Anzhela.

“...he’d devour the universe. And you don’t want that to happen.” she clarified.

“Riiight.” Stepan deadpanned, feeling a little bit overwhelmed all of a sudden.

He took a last deep breath to clear his head.

“Fine, why don’t we head inside? The others are so in for a surprise.” all but giggled. But who could blame him? He had just gone out to get some fresh air and was now coming back with the king of the firebirds and the Morning Star in tow.

What a weird day!

❄✯❄

To say that Stepan’s sisters were surprised was the understatement of the year. As soon as their big brother came back from his break with not only one, but two guests, the whole room went silent at once.

Peggy and Natasha stared with wide eyes at the dark-skinned man and the beautiful warrior woman -  a woman, who Peggy knew very well and who she had known her whole life, besides her family.

“Oh my gosh, you’re the Morning Star!” she all but yelled and jumped up, her feet carrying her quickly to the Solar Goddess standing on Stepan's left. She stopped only a few centimeters before her, taking in Anzhela’s aethereal appearance.

“I always talk to you in the mornings. About my mother, my siblings, everyone. And I’ve always hoped that you’d hear me.” Her babbling became a whisper.

Anzhela smiled softly and took her hands, squeezing them slightly.

“I know. I heard all of it and I...I liked it very much. I like you very much. You could be my Zorya Vechernyaya, my Evening Star, my fellow Guardian Goddess. But only if you want to…” she asked the youngest Tsarevna.

Peggy’s facial expression changed from surprised to excited within split seconds. But the squealed “Yes” and the following “Please call me Angie” could be heard by everyone present.

Meanwhile, Natasha eyed up the other newcomer. Although she never had shown any interests in men until now, there was something about him that made her want to get to know him better. And his tooth gap was cute.

“Stepan, who is your new friend? Aren’t you going to introduce me to him?” she asked her brother with a voice which was better known as her Don’t-fuck-this-up-brother voice. she got up from her dark wooden armchair and wandered over to the two men.

“And?” She demanded to know.

Stepan blushed and cleared his throat.

“Nat, this is Samuil, King of the Zharp-titsas. He’s here for you.” He introduced. The Tsarevna took another close look at Sam.

“Firebird, huh?” she mock-huffed.

“Looks like it!” Sam good-naturedly played along.

“I hope you don’t expect to be an ordinary housewife.”

“Wouldn't dream of it.” The Firebird King deadpanned.

“I’m a trained fighter and not a stay-at-home mommy.” she retorted.

Sam chuckled. “I know.”

“I don’t and won’t do girly things. EVER!” She sassed back.

“Believe me, that’s the last thing I want you to do. You want to know why I’m here? You’re just like a Firebird - fiery spirit, extraordinary and always up for a challenge. That’s what I love about you and the reason why I want to ask you for your hand in marriage.”

Natasha didn’t answer right away, but scrutinized him more. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, a small smile appeared her on her lips.

“Well then, I don't want to be awkward. You may marry me if you really feel the urge.” she replied, holding up her hand with a completely serious expression on her face.

Sam dissolved into laughter at that.

“Oh, you’re a sassy one. I like that.” he snickered but took it anyway. “And I’m afraid you’re stuck with me now.”

The redhead sighed.

“Damn. That’s too bad.” She said in a deadpan voice.

Stepan shook his head at his sister’s antics. Trust her to be so damn nonchalant about it.

“THAT CALLS FOR A CELEBRATION!” Thor thundered, positively excited about gaining a new brother-in-law and a sister-in-law-in-arms.

Needless to say that the evening ended in a preliminary celebration, after everyone agreed that the weddings were to be held seven days later.

❄✯❄

The day of the weddings themselves was bittersweet for the small tsarevich.

Sure, they had a lot of guests from here and there, peasants and nobility alike. Stepan got to know Thor’s family and friends. Although no one from Sam’s and Angie’s families were present, Stepan could understand that important people like the Gods had important duties to fulfil. Anzhela and Sam had assured him that they still were going to be with them, only not in flesh.

Sure, the ceremony performed by himself and Odin was beautiful.  His sisters looked beautiful in their jewelled wedding dresses and their long veils. Stepan found himself choking at the end and more than a few tears ran down his cheeks.

Sure, the reception was awesome. Lots of drinks, delicious food and the best speeches from the best men.

But all in all, it made Stepan realize that his sisters would be leaving their home forever and he would be alone soon. So it was no wonder that he found himself retreating into a dark corner to wallow in misery, but not before bumping into the hard armour of someone. Who the fuck wore an armour at a wedding...well except for Thor and his family?

“Sorry!” Stepan sniffled.

“Hey, no problem. I’m made of Iron!” a male voice joked.

Stepan looked up to see a bearded man wearing a golden and red armour standing in front of him. He was older than Stepan and had a full wine goblet in his right hand. Holding out a hand, he introduced himself.

“Anton, Tsar of Sil’no. And you must be Tsarevich Stepan. Nice party by the way. I don’t think we have met before, because I’d remember meeting such a handsome man!” he smirked.

Stepan felt himself blushing.

“Well it’s nice to meet you, Tsar Anton. You’re really of Sil’no? I always thought they’ve shut down their borders for good.”

Anton rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, that’s right. But when I took the throne, I changed that. Isolation is gravely underrated and deadly for any kind of trade between tsardoms. So, borders are open again and I am here at the weddings of the year. So wanna explore the Garden with me? Surely we can play hide and seek.” he asked, waggling his eyebrows all the while.

Stepan raised his eyebrows at Anton’s failing attempt to flirt with him. Flirt with him. Him.

“Riiiight...Sorry, but my sisters leave soon and I want to send them off properly. It was nice to meet you, Tsar Anton.” he  countered, before turning to head back to the Ballroom, where the reception was held.

“Me too. You should come and visit me in Sil’no. It’s beautiful at this time of the year. Although not as beautiful as you.” Anton shouted after him, winking at the tsarevich. Stepan stopped short, took a deep breath, before turning his head and called back:

“Will do. See you later!”

He then hurried back to his table, crimson-faced.

❄✯❄

 Saying goodbye to his sisters was the second worst thing Stepan had to do in his life.

Jane and Thor.

Natasha and Sam.

Peggy and Angie.

So many tears were shed when the siblings finally had to say goodbye. And of course, his new in-laws had a few gifts for the tsarevich.

Thor gave him a small bag filled with golden apples from Asgard for a time when he would need them the most. Stepan had no idea what Thor had meant, but he appreciated the gesture.

Sam gave him one of his feathers, which glowed so brightly that he had to hide it under a cloth, and the King gave Stepan the promise that he just had to call his name in case he ever needed his help quickly.

Anzhela gave him an amulet in the shape of a star in the middle of the sun, meant for protection and to give to his True Love.

And of course, his sisters told him just to give a shout to their spouses and they would be with him right away.

Stepan thanked them and hugged his sisters one last time.

Then Thor and Jane disappeared in a storm, swallowed by a lightning flash.

 Sam engulfed Natasha in his firebird glow, which turned brighter and brighter until they both were gone.

Peggy and Angie waved Stepan goodbye, before a veil made of stars enfolded them and they shot up to the sky like a rocket, leaving a comet-like tail behind. His eyes followed them all the way up to Ursa Minor, where they disappeared at last. Two small stars lit up next to Polaris and suddenly Stepan knew that they were going to watch over him, wherever he would be.

 Especially now that he was alone.

 Again.

 ❆✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄

Glossary and Translations

 **Sil’no** \- Stark

 **Zimnii Morje** \- Winter Sea

 **Bruklin** \- Brooklyn

 **Sarafan** \- a traditional, sleeveless women's dress, usually worn over a long-sleeved shirt

 **yeye dva** \- You two

 **Njet** \- No

 **Zhar-ptitsa** \- a magical glowing bird from Slavic folklore

 **Koról** \- King

 **Kokoshnik Tiara** \- crescent-shaped tiara made of gold or silver, usually gemmed

 **Shashka** \- special kind of sabre; a very sharp, single-edged, single-handed and guardless sword with a slightly curved

 **Otjets** \- Father


	2. Meeting Yasha

❆✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄

Part 2: Meeting Yasha

In the days following the weddings, Stepan fell into some sort of lethargy. The palace felt so lonely all of a sudden. He missed his sisters laughs, their deafening shrieks and pointed remarks. More than once, he found himself wandering through the almost empty halls, staring at his siblings’ portraits for hours. Or he’d watch the starlit sky, hoping to get a sign from above.

In the end, Wanda, backed up by her brother, cornered him in the garden one evening, where Stepan sat on a blanket at the biggest ponds and looked at the starry sky. Wanda, who had been acting as his proxy ever since the festivities, was sick of seeing her cousin so down, and decided to take up matters in her own hand.

“Stepan, this has to stop. I know you miss them, but you have a Tsardom to rule.” she confronted him.

Stepan sighed, his eyes never leaving the dark sky.

“I know. I thought I could easily get over them being not here…” He started.

“...but you can’t.” Wanda stated, knowing the feeling very well. She had felt the same after her parents’ death. Stepan nodded dumbly.

Wanda and Pietro exchanged meaningful glances, before they sat down next to him. The three of them stayed silent for a whole time, just looking at the twinkling orbs. Finally, Pietro, usually more the silent type, spoke.

“Who was that guy you spoke with at the wedding? I’ve never seen him before.” The white-haired man asked.

Stepan blinked.

“Oh god, I think he introduced himself as Anton, the Tsar of Sil’no. Wanted me to visit his Tsardom. Why do you ask?” the Tsarevich asked back.

Pietro looked at his sister and Wanda answered instead, putting her hand on Stepan’s blue clothed shoulder.

“What Pietro, we, wanted to say is that you need a change of scenery. Why don’t you accept Tsar Anton’s invitation and visit him? It will do you some good. And when you come back, you’ll see that everything is going to be fine. And who knows…Maybe you’ll get your chance at finding someone who loves you as Stepan and not as Prince Regent of Bruklin.”

“You think so?” Stepan replied quietly, while he looked at Wanda, his blue eyes so wide opened that he rather looked like a kid than a grown Tsarevich.

The twins nodded simultaneously and hugged him at the same time, so that Stepan felt a little bit sandwiched between the two of them.

“Okay then I think I will take a break.” The small blonde whispered.

❄✯❄

The next day, Stepan wrote a letter to Tsar Anton, declaring that he’d like to come for a visit. He received an answer within a week. Tsar Anton was thrilled to have him over at his little place and that he could stay for as long as he wanted to.

And so, it came that Stepan left his Tsardom for the first time in his life. Although Pietro had offered to accompany him, Stepan had politely declined. He felt better if Pietro was staying with his sister and helped her rule in his absence.

Anton had sent a carriage drawn by four magnificent black horses to Bruklin, which was now chauffeuring the Tsarevich and his luggage through Sil’no. Although he had been tensed up at the start of his journey, he now enjoyed the different scenery. Because Sil’no was very much different from Bruklin.

Where Bruklin was mountainous and hilly, Sil'no was flat and partially woody. Bruklin had only half as much acres as Sil'no. But at least the people seemed to be just as friendly. When the carriage came closer to Tsar Anton’s palace, Stepan recognized another difference.

His own palace rested on the plateau of a large Table Mountain, big enough for the castle and the garden, which fitted right into the mountainside.

Sil'no’s palace was on a not so natural looking, large hill in the middle, surrounded by grassy plains and golden acres. Stepan could spot tiny villages in the distance at each side of the road. It was beautiful. However, Anton’s palace looked more like a fortified castle. A round mighty exterior wall protected the inner bailey with its three towers. A small road, just big enough for the carriage, wound itself upwards in a spiral, ending in front of a guarded gate.

To be honest, Stepan didn’t like the sight. The fortress looked gloomy and surreal which was a sharp contrast to the glowing lowlands. While the carriage made its way slowly upwards to the top of the hill, his only thought was that coming here may have been a huge mistake on his part.

Finally, the wheeled vehicle entered the gate and came to a hold in the inner courtyard. Stepan let out and waited until the coachman opened the door. He had no idea what lay ahead of him, but lately nothing surprised him anymore. But apparently, he was wrong.

When he had stepped out of the carriage, the courtyard was…empty.

His own palace was bustling with life and people and Stepan wouldn’t have it any other way. Here…Here was nothing. No people, no animals, not a single sign of life. Except for the few guards at the gate and Tsar Anton in his red and golden armour, who stood a few metres away from him with wide spread arms.

“Hey, you made it. I hope you had an uneventful journey. Some of these woods aren’t exactly safe. I heard Nightingale the Robber is currently making trouble in the Western Woods.” He exclaimed, trying to hug the smaller Tsarevich.

Stepan smoothly dodged his attempt and headed back to the carriage to get his small bag, where he kept the gifts from his in-laws.

“Don’t worry, Tsar Anton. Luckily we had no encounter with him.” Stepan replied, before he took Anton’s right hand and shook it. “Well, you have a nice castle, but it looks a little bit…empty.” He continued.

Anton smirked and pulled Stepan’s small hand closer, pressing a kiss on it. Stepan secretly shuddered, but decided to let it go for now. Although he had a hunch that Anton's motives for his visit weren’t exactly the same as his’.

“Well, I don’t like being around too many people and I don’t have time to have to grapple with them. So, all I really need are my guards. The rest is handled by my Domovye so that I can spend my time in my workshop.” The Tsar explained.

Stepan raised his eyebrows.

“You work in a workshop? That’s rather unusual.” He wondered.

Anton laughed again.

“Yeah, why not? I like inventing things. It’s less boring than the whole ruling a Tsardom part. I hate that part.” He babbled happily.

“Riiight...” the smaller man stated, already thinking of a way to get the hell out of the castle.

Anton must have noticed Stepan’s discomfort, because suddenly he let out a loud whistle and shouted:

“Jarvis, please take Tsarevich Stepan’s luggage and take it to his room while I’ll give him the Tour.”

“Certainly, Sir!” an invisible voice right next to Stepan answered, making him jump.

“What the…” he all but yelped.

Anton shook his head, before taking Stepan’s hand and squeezed his hand in comfort.

“That’s just Jarvis, my head Domovoi. He means well.” The dark-haired man explained.

“My apologies, Sir. I did not mean to scare you.” The voice said.

Stepan took a deep breath to calm his racing heart.

“It’s okay. But I’d like to go in now.” He breathed. Anton put his arm around Stepan’s scrawny shoulders and led him inside.

“Well then, let’s show you my humble abode.” He all but shouted.

“Hooray!” Stepan mumbled under his breath, but went with Anton.

What was the worst that could happen?

❄✯❄

It was just as gloomy, much to Stepan's dismay. Uncounted torches lit up the dark hallways and the flights of stairs. Chambers had only small windows that barely let any light in and had to be lighted with dozens of

candles, giving them a suspiciously romantic appeal.

Stepan hated it.

On their way to what would be Stepan’s chamber for the time being, both men passed a heavily barricaded door, several locking mechanisms and one huge lock making it difficult for anyone to enter the room behind it. A fact which stroke Stepan as odd, since all the remaining rooms were unlocked.

“Is there a reason why this door is barricaded?” Stepan asked his host. If there was a threat here in this castle, he had to know.

But the dark-haired man put him off.

“Just a very expensive wine collection. Don’t want anyone to steal it!” Anton grinned and gestured for the small Tsarevich to follow him.

Stepan frowned.

If there was one thing he hated more than bullies, then it was a liar. And Stepan just knew that Anton was lying to him, because he not only had his hot-headed streak, but also a very fine lie detecting sense. It helped him make the right decisions as a Prince Regent, after all. He decided to let it go for now and to pursue that issue later, when the Tsar wasn’t around. Who knew what kind of skeletons Anton was hiding in his dungeon.

❄✯❄

Dinner was an awkward affair.

Admittingly, the food was absolutely delicious. But Anton couldn’t stop throwing suggestive innuendos at him all the time they were eating. It made Stepan really uncomfortable, because now he knew exactly why he was here. By the time dessert was served, the dark-haired man had left his place at the table, which had been opposite him, and was now sitting next to him, getting really handsy.

Stepan barely resisted the urge to smack his fellow regent. Although he felt flattered that Anton seemed to deem him wooable, his methods gave the small Tsarevich the creeps. Stepan was a romantic at heart and not the kind of Tsarevich who was an easy lay.

Anton finally seemed to realize that he needed to change his way and let Stepan alone. Only then Anton announced that he’d leave the next day for a week to fetch a friend of his, which he’d love to introduce to Stepan.

This time, the small blonde gave him a real smile, cheering internally. Unbeknownst to Anton, the Tsar had just given him the perfect opportunity he needed to solve the mystery of the barricaded door. Although he would have to wait until it was night and he could avoid the guards and the Domovye.

Later, in his chamber, which was actually quite nice compared to the rest of the castle, Stepan looked up to Ursa Minor and smiled when two stars twinkled mischievously at him. He waved back at Peggy and Angie before heading back to bed. Sleep claimed him easily that night.

What Stepan didn’t know yet was that the next day was about to bring unexpected challenges for him.

❄✯❄

The next morning, Stepan was roused by the sound of distant cockcrows. Yawning, he forced himself out of bed and went to the table next to the window, where a bowl, two pitchers with hot and cold water as well as a cloth and a towel were already waiting for him. He took his time for his morning wash before changing into a blue-white kaftan with a white star on each shoulder, trousers of the same colours and bright red boots.

Taking a deep breath, he grabbed his small bag and headed to the Dining Room for breakfast. Anton was already there and nursing a cup of a bitter smelling dark liquid while ignoring the rest of the generous breakfast.

There was a samovar with freshly brewed black tea, hot blini and syrniki with jam and honey, a pitcher with fresh milk, a plate with lemon slices, freshly baked bread, butter and another plate with slices of kolbasa.

Stepan sat down on his place and poured himself a cup of tea, adding lemon juice, sugar and milk. Then he helped himself to a first serving of blini and syrniki with honey, just as he liked it.

“So, did you sleep well?” Anton asked, while he watched the small blonde devour his food.

“It was okay. I’m just not used to sleep in a bed so far away from home.” Stepan replied, spreading jam on two buttered slices of bread. “When are you going to leave?” he asked innocently, taking a big bite of his bread.

“After breakfast.” Anton answered. Then a devilish smile appeared on his lips. “Why? Are you going to miss me?” he teased, waggling his eyebrows.

Stepan took another sip of tea.

“Nope.” He deadpanned.

Anton blinked, before he doubled over with laughter.

“You had me there for a moment. But I know you like me. Now if you excuse, I need to organise a few last things before I leave. See you later, Stepushka.” He winked at the Tsarevich.

“Don’t call me that!” Stepan all but growled.

“Whatever you wish, Styopa. I see you in ten in the courtyard.” Anton answered, finishing his cup and getting up.

Before he left the room, he stopped by Stepan’s seat and ruffled the blonde’s hair. Then he turned and walked out.

Stepan stayed behind, taking deep breath and mumbling something like “Stay calm, Stepan! Stay calm!” under his breath. But in the end, it was inevitable that his head made the unfortunate, but still painful acquaintance with the hard, woodened surface of the table.

And still, he found himself in the courtyard barely ten minutes later, watching the Tsar as he walked around his best horse, a beautiful brown mare which he called Pyatnitsa.

When Anton was ready, he looked and his face lit up, when he saw a glimpse of blonde in the shadows. He strode over to where Stepan was standing, grabbed him by the waist and dipped him before stealing a kiss from the blonde’s lips. Bringing him back upwards, Anton released him.

SLAP.

“Ouch…” Anton suddenly whined and brought his hand up to his cheek, where a perfect red replica of Stepan’s hand began to blossom.

“That was not nice, Styopa.” The Tsar pouted.

Stepan narrowed his eyes. He was not amused by Anton’s actions.

“And it was not nice to kiss me without my consent.” The blonde riled back.

Anton smirked.

“Well then let’s make my intentions clear. I like you and I want you as my consort. When I’m back, we can certainly discuss the wedding arrangements.” He stated.

“Too bad that you need my approval for that. Don’t think that you will get it.” Stepan riled.

Anton huffed and strode back to Pyatnitsa, mounting the mare and taking the red reins in his right hand.

“We’ll see, Styopa. But I love your feistiness. It’s a good trait in a partner.” He said, before taking the reins in both hands and galloping out of the gate.

Stepan waited until the Tsar was out of his sight. Only then he stormed back inside. He had enough for now.

❄✯❄

Stepan spent the rest of the day exploring the fortress on his own, discovering that way a surprisingly big library with a fireplace and the entrance to the kitchen, where the Domovye worked. He was surprised to see that they weren’t invisible all the time, but had taken on the shapes of older people.

Jarvis even reminded him of his late grandfather and was a very nice Domovoi. He even agreed that Stepan could take his meals here in the kitchen with them, because the Tsarevich didn’t want to eat in the huge dining Room on his own.

When the night finally fell on Sil'no Castle, Stepan slipped out of his bed, where he had been waiting for the darkness to come. Grabbing his trusty bag, he sneaked out of his chamber and headed for the barricaded door. There he took one of his sisters’ hairpins out of his bag (which had been there all the time, because who knew if he’d need them) and moved for the large lock, which held the chains together.

Now it really paid off that Natasha and Peggy had showed him how to use them this way.  In next to no time, Stepan had cracked the lock and moved further to the locking mechanisms. He pushed back the first bolt, then the second and so on, until the door finally was open.

Stepan sneaked in soundlessly and closed the door behind him. Then he took out the red cloth out of his bag, which contained Sam’s feather, and opened it. Immediately, the darkness became bright as the day and revealed a stairway, which led deeper into the bowels of the castle.

Stepan slowly walked down the staircase, his small hand gripping the Firebird feather tightly. He had no idea how long he had been walking, but somehow Stepan ended up in front of another door, which he lockpicked just as easy as the first.

Taking a deep breath, he held up Sam’s feather and stepped forwards. But of all things he had anticipated, Stepan hadn’t certainly expected this.

❄✯❄

With wide eyes, Stepan stared down at the middle of the dungeon, because that’s what it was, and could barely believe what he saw there.

Right in the middle of the semi-dark stood a throne. Not an ordinary throne, but one made of bones and skulls.

On the throne sat a man, clothed in dark, partly ripped leather. He had shoulder-length brown hair, which covered his sunken and gaunt face, while his eyes were closed. Stepan could also see literally the bones of the man’s ribcage poking through the ripped parts of his clothing.

However, the most striking feature was the left arm. It was completely made of silver metal with interlocking plates and had a red star in shoulder height. Stepan found it beautiful.

He stepped down a few of the stairs which led downwards and his lights source revealed more details.

The man had apparently been a prisoner. Thick, tentacle-like chains were wrapped around the man’s torso, arms and legs and leading to each side of the room’s walls, where they were fastened. He also had a collar around his neck, which was chained to the wall.

Stepan was confused. Why would Tsar Anton keep an apparently dead man prisoner in the depths of his castle and chain him like this? It made no sense. Unless…

“You can quit staring at me. I know you’re here. I just don’t know why.” A surprisingly smooth voice suddenly said.

Stepan was so surprised that he all but let out a very unmanly squeak while literally jumping in the air at the same time.

While he tried to calm down his racing heart, he held his feather towards the source of the voice – and stared right into two dull, stormy blue eyes.

Eyes that belonged to the corpse.

A corpse that was very much alive.

OH MY GOD.

Stepan let out another shriek and stumbled back upwards to the door, slamming it shut after him. The sudden rush of adrenaline kept him going, while taking up the stairs at a run. When he reached the top, he fumbled with the lock, closing it. The locking mechanisms fell automatically in place.

When he finally reached his chamber, he dived under the covers of his bed and didn’t move anymore until it dawned.

❄✯❄

Although he was still spooked by the events the night before, Stepan returned the next evening to the dungeon. This time, the man was awake and watched him, while he went down the stairs to the ground. He took his time to get closer. He couldn’t deny that there was something about the man that attracted him magically.

Maybe it was his eyes. He had never seen such a colour before. As if a storm would suck him right in and keep him there forever.

Carefully, the Tsarevich stepped closer and finally held out his hand.

“Hi, I’m Stepan, Prince Regent of Bruklin. And you are?” Stepan asked.

But the man stayed silent. Just watched him with his hypnotizing eyes.

Stepan gulped.

“Well, I’m here as a guest of Tsar Anton. And I’d really like to know your name.” he tried anew.

The man huffed.

“So that’s what he calls himself nowadays. Asshole. Tries to screw with me every time. Damn Svarog.” He snorted.

Stepan’s brows scrunched up in confusion. What the hell was the man talking about?

“I don’t understand…” the small blonde started anew, but was interrupted again.

“Listen, you can tell Svarog that he can stop sending his lackeys, no matter how handsome. I’m not going to tell him anything.” The man told him.

Stepan took a deep breath. There appeared to be some kind of miscommunication here.

“Okay first, I’m no one’s lackey. Second, who the hell is Svarog?” he asked.

The man narrowed his eyes and glared at Stepan with such force that the small blonde began to shake with fear.

“Svarog? God of fire and blacksmiths? Short? Brunette? Goatee beard? Ugly red and golden armour? Has a thing for blondes? My self-proclaimed warden for two centuries?” the imprisoned man all but spat out, making Stepan flinch.

“I’m sorry?” he managed to get out.

The man watched him intensely, stormy eyes drilling themselves into Stepan’s very soul. After several minutes of silence, the prisoner’s features softened visibly.

“You don’t really know.” He broached the subject again, stating the obvious. The man began to laugh as if he had gone crazy. “Oh god, I’m sorry. Being here all alone for so long must have make me forget my manners. So, what’s your name again?” he asked.

Stepan gulped, still stunned about the sudden change of mood in the dungeon. He inhaled sharply and held his hand out, so that the man could take it despite his restricted range of motions.

“I’m Stepan of Bruklin.” He introduced himself anew.

The man chuckled and shook the small hand.

“I’m Yasha. Nice to meet you, Stepan of Bruklin.” He smirked. And oh god…Stepan found that smirk very sexy, even though Yasha didn’t look healthy. But that was no wonder, when one had been imprisoned for two centuries…

Stepan’s brain came to a halt. How could he have missed that little fact?

“Wait a minute. Did you just say that you’ve been here for two hundred years?” he asked again, not believing his ears.

Yasha laughed humourlessly and gestured at the bones of his ribcage.

“Looks like it, don’t you think?”

Stepan was confused, as he watched Yasha. No one was immortal, well except for one individual…

“You’re Yasha the Deathless.” The Tsarevich stated.

Yasha huffed.

“So that’s what they call me nowadays. Mortals…Always coming up with such silly names.” He shook his head.

Stepan, on the other side, was still shocked. His mother had told him and his sisters countless stories about the Immortal, his atrocities, his crimes. And yet…

And yet, he was sitting in front of him on the skull and bones throne and didn’t look like a criminal. Instead, Yasha was a branded man, who had obviously been through hell and looked like it, too.

“Sorry, but I need to go. That was way too much information for one night. I need to work through this.” Stepan almost shouted, turned and   ran up the staircase, slamming the door behind him and so completely missing Yasha’s dejected gaze, as he watched the Tsarevich go.

Not that he’d complain. Because who in their right mind would associate himself with a man like him?

It was certainly not the pretty, small Tsarevich, who had come all the way back from Bruklin.

Especially not him.

❄✯❄

After a rather sleepless night, Stepan had come to two conclusions.

Anton, no, Svarog was a lying, creepy god of a bitch, who didn’t deserve to be around Stepan.

Yasha was definitely not the man out of the old wife’s stories. He was the victim of a cruel god, who held him prisoner for no reason. And that went against Stepan’s innate sense of justice. That was also the reason why he would do everything in his power to help the Immortal.

He spent the day in the library researching Yasha and the gods. After finishing his dinner in the kitchen, he took the leftovers with him, claiming that he needed some sustenance while reading. Jarvis was even so nice to prepare a platter for him.

Later, when the night fell on Sil'no Castle, the Tsarevich went back down to Yasha’s prison, taking the food with him. The Immortal watched him with a strange expression on her face, not actually believing that the handsome blonde had come back for him and even brought food for him. After asking Yasha, if he could feed him since the Immortal was handicapped, Stepan stepped closer.

Yasha, on the other side, felt conflicted. Although he hadn’t eaten in ages and he was not sure if he even could taste something after all this time, he also didn’t want to force the blonde man. So it came as a surprise that when Stepan fed him a Pelmeni, a plethora of flavours exploded in his mouth, causing him to breathe very quickly. It was overwhelming to know that his sense of taste was still there.

Stepan mistook his quick breathing for choking and slapped him continuously on the free part of his back.

“I’m okay.” Yasha managed to get out. “I’m just not used to solid food.”

Stepan looked sceptical at him, but let it go for now. The smaller man fed him some more, before Yasha had enough. Then he sat down at the bottom of the stairs, the firebird feather emitting a soft orange glow in the darkness.

“So, what’s with the arm? I mean it’s awesome. Where did you lose it?” Stepan asked.

Yasha sighed and leaned back, his eyes staring at an invisible point above Stepan's head. There was a long moment of silence, wherein the Tsarevich waited for the other man to speak, just to break the silence. It was several minutes later that Yasha finally spoke up.

“There was a war. Svarog started it together with his buddy Triglav. You know…three-headed god of war. He invaded my Tsardom, just because of who I am. I lost the last battle and my arm with it. Svarog made me the arm, together with my chains. Guess he found it hilarious to keep me here while telling the other Gods that his search for me had been futile.”

“And who are you really, if I may ask?” Stepan wanted to know.

Yasha eyed and let out a dry laugh.

“My mother is Morena, the Goddess of Winter and Death. My father is Czernobog, the Black God. Believe me, I had no easy childhood, when every mortal believes that you’re just as evil as your father. I mean Dad is not a poster dad, but he’s okay. However, at least I had Zimnii Morje until…” He trailed of, suddenly at a loss of words.

The blond Tsarevich gasped. This was impossible. Could Yasha be…?

“You are the lost Tsar of Zimnii Morje? Can you tell me more about the ice border? I could always see it glittering from my palace.” Stepan wanted to know.

Yasha couldn’t help but smile at Stepan’s enthusiasm. This was the first time in two hundred years that someone didn’t see him as a ruthless killer, but just an imprisoned immortal. It was nice for a change.

“The wall is a courtesy of my mother, built to prevent Svarog from entering. She doesn’t like him, I don’t like him and vice versa. Therefore, only I can breach the wall. Svarog can grow roots here for all I care.” The chained man explained.

Stepan nodded enthusiastically. After meeting Anton/Svarog, his own feelings were mutual. Letting out a deep breath, the smaller man stood and took his bag with the feather.

“Well, I have to go now. It’s already late.” He said and planted without thinking a small kiss on Yasha’s cheek. And once again, he missed the imprisoned man’s deer-caught-in-the-headlight expression.

Just as Stepan climbed up the stairs, Yasha’s soft voice stopped him, asking him:

“Will you come back?”

The Tsarevich stopped and turned his head towards the brunette man, a real smile lighting up his features.

“I will.” He promised.

And Yasha believed him.

❄✯❄

“So, why are you exactly here?” Yasha asked Stepan, while this one fed him leftover Borshch with slices of freshly baked dark bread.

Just like he had promised, Stepan had appeared on time in the dungeon, carrying a small pot of Borscht and a small plate with bread. When he saw Yasha’s eyes lighten up at his arrival, a strange warm feeling made itself known in his gut. The Tsarevich found himself fantasizing how it would be to visit the Lost Tsardom with a free and fully restored Yasha, spending his time with him, kissing him…

Stepan’s blue eyes widened. Could it be…?  No, he couldn’t be falling in love with the imprisoned immortal or those beautiful haunted eyes or those perfectly shaped lips…

“Kukla, are you okay?” Yasha’s worried voice pulled Stepan out of train of thoughts and he blushed furiously.

“I’m okay!” the blond Tsarevich squeaked, trying hard not to stare at Yasha’s amused face. The immortal raised a questioning eyebrow, but chose not to probe further.

“Okay. If you say so…I’m just interested to know what brings you here to Svarog’s castle.” Yasha asked.

Stepan cleared his throat and sat down next to the throne.

“Well, I have three sisters, who have just gotten married lately. I don’t know if you my in-laws. Jane got married to Thor. He’s one of the Norse gods. Natasha married Samuil, or Sam. He’s like the king of the Firebirds. And Peggy, my youngest sister, is the wife of the Morning Star. I know it sounds crazy, but it isn’t.” he told him.

Yasha shrugged his shoulders.

“Can’t say that. Sam and Angie are my cousins, so we’re probably, no, most likely related now.” He stated as a matter of fact, leaving Stepan speechless.

“What? Are you serious?” the small prince asked.

Yasha just smirked at him, leaving no doubt that he had spoken the truth.

Stepan sighed. Why wasn’t he surprised? He might as well continue to tell his story.

“So, on the reception, Anton talks to me and invites me to visit him here. I didn’t want to come here at first, but my cousins Wanda and Pietro wanted me to stop moping after my sisters had left and so I accepted his invitation.

But then, Svarog or Anton starts to get handsy and his aggressive flirting just gives me the creeps. I mean, he made his intentions very clear that he wants me as his consort. But I don’t and won’t give in to his wooing. But I don’t know how I can stop him from getting what he wants. As for myself…I just want to go home.” He voiced out his fear.

Yasha had listened to Stepan's story with clenched fists and jaw. That was so Svarog. Taking what he wants without regard to other people’s needs. Both men stayed silent for a long time, before Yasha broke the silence.

“Do you know why he keeps me here?” he asked the smaller man.

Stepan shook his head.

“He wants the secret of my immortality. Look, the Gods aren’t immortal. They are just long-living. I’m the only one who’s deathless. When I was born, my mother feared for my safety, being the child of my father. To protect me, she hid my soul in a very unusual way.” Yasha started to explain.

“In what way unusual?” Stepan asked.

Yasha sighed.

“My soul is hidden inside a needle. This needle is hidden in an ice blue egg, which is hidden in a duck, which is in a hare, which is in a special iron chest, which is buried under the strongest oak tree on the Island of Buyan. That’s where Sam, Angie, my mother and most of the other Gods live.” He explained.

“That sounds…complicated!” Stepan stated. Yasha chuckled, before becoming serious again.

“That was the intention. The second problem is that Svarog thinks I’m a weapon to be wielded as he pleases.” He continued.

“But you’re not a weapon, but a man.” Stepan protested.

“Tell that Svarog! He probably wants to claim your Tsardom, too. I’ve heard it has many resources hidden in your mountains.”

Stepan opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out and he closed it again. What Yasha had said, actually made sense. Why else would the God of Blacksmiths try to hit on him?

The blond Tsarevich got up from his place at Yasha’s feet. Sighing, he turned to the man he found himself slowly falling in love with.

“I need to go. Is there anything I can do to free you?” he asked.

Yasha's face took on a nondescript expression and he refused to answer this question.

“Is there…?” Stepan all but pressed.

Yasha sighed and closed his eyes, his long hair falling into his face.

“Yes, there is. But I cannot ask you to do this!” he whispered, suddenly sounding insecure, like a child that was afraid of something.

“But…”

“No, I can’t. Please go now. I want to be alone.” The immortal insisted.

Stepan stared at him silently for another minute, before he turned and left the dungeon, wondering what just happened.

❄✯❄

The Tsarevich didn’t sleep that night. While watching the stars that were his sister and her wife, he thought about Yasha's sudden change of behaviour and if it had been his fault that the immortal had sent him away. But Stepan wouldn’t be Stepan if he would give up so easily on the imprisoned man. There had to be a way to help Yasha, if he liked it or not.

As soon as Angie’s father (he’s the Sun after all) showed his face and Stepan had finished breakfast in the kitchen, the small blonde headed for the library to find a solution for Yasha's momentarily predicament.

He spent the whole day digging through various books, ranging from fairy tales to books from wise scholars to history books. He hoped to find a clue on Yasha’s past in it, but in vain. It was as if the Immortal had been erased from the face of the Earth.

Stepan sighed and looked out of the library’s window. It was already dark again. Still unsure, if he should visit Yasha tonight, he debated several minutes with himself before giving in. Anton was to return within the next days and Stepan had no desire to be here anymore, when the false Tsar came back.

Making up his mind, Stepan headed out of the room and to his to grab his bag, before he made his way down to the dungeon, his trusty firebird feather lightening up his way. He took a deep breath, before he pushed the door open.

Yasha's face was still hidden under the dark curtain that was his hair. Stepan cleared his throat, making the Immortal jump. The imprisoned man stared with awe at the smaller man, briefly wondering what kind of deity had send this beauty to him. A beauty that returned to him voluntarily, although Yasha had been so bitchy to him last night.

He sent a silent “Thank You” to the Deities and his mother above, while he watched Stepan stalking up to him with a furious expression on his face. The small Tsarevich stopped in front of him and started poking his bare bones while he spoke.

“You listen to me, Mr. Deathless. You WILL tell me how to free, because I have no intention to deal with this asshole god on my own. Do I make myself clear?” he hissed angrily.

Yasha blinked. That was unexpected. Stepan still wanted to help him? That was so sweet of the Tsarevich. No one had done this for him before. Maybe it was because he was in here for so long that he had trust issues towards mortals. It seemed that it was time to change that.

“You are right, Stepushka. You shouldn’t have to face him alone.” He replied.

Stepan huffed in annoyance and crossed his arms in front of his tiny chest.

“And?” he demanded to know.

“To regain my strengths…” Yasha paused, taking in Stepan’s flushed face, before he continued. “…twelve buckets full of water.”

The small Tsarevich deflated visibly, when he heard that.

“Really?” he sighed. Twelve buckets of water. He had no idea how to get twelve buckets of water down here.

“You wanted to know.” Yasha said. He watched Stepan as the small blonde debated with himself what to do.

“I know.” Stepan sighed again. He really needed a plan for this.

When he had arrived, he had seen a well near the kitchen entrance with two single buckets on the ground next to it. He needed ten minutes from here to the kitchen, maybe twelve to the well. If he was assuming that he could manage one full bucket at a time, then he would need twenty-six minutes for one trip there and back and four minutes to give the water to Yasha.

Therefore, Stepan would need thirty minutes for one trip. If he would do this twelve times, he’d need all night to finish this task. Difficult, but not impossible.

“I’ll do it. But it’s going to take some time, since I only can do one bucket at once. I’m not exactly Ilya Muromets.” He sighed.

Yasha shook his head and gestured at his shackles.

“Take your time, Kukla. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.” He chuckled.

“Yeah, right.” Stepan stammered, blushing furiously as he all but ran out of the dungeon, past the kitchen and into the courtyard to the well. He grabbed one of the buckets, fastened it to the chain of a simple pulley and let it down slowly into the dark well shaft with the help of a crank. He could hear the occasional clang when the bucket hit the shaft wall.

Finally, the Tsarevich heard the plopping sound, as it hit the water, and waited until the weight of the full bucket started to drag the bailing lie further down. Only then, he turned the crank in counter clockwise direction, slowly pulling up the filled vessel until it reached the surface.

Stepan heaved it onto the ground and detached it from the hook at the other end of the hoist chain. Only with some difficulty, he managed to lift and transport the bucket back to Yasha's prison. The Immortal’s eyes nearly popped out, when he saw the smaller man struggling down the stairs with the pail of water.

When Stepan finally reached the ground and the throne, he had to put his burden down for a moment to catch his breath.

“Are you alright, Kukla?” Yasha asked in a worried voice that warmed Stepan's heart. Because hey, despite their small quarrel last night, the Immortal was still worried that Stepan would overwork himself by doing this for him.

“Yeah, I’m just not used to this kind of labour.” The Tsarevich gasped, taking deep breaths, until he could breathe easier. Just then, he lifted the bucket from the floor and held it to Yasha's dry lips, so that the imprisoned man could drink the ice-cold liquid. Despite the screaming protests of his muscles, he managed to hold it steady until Yasha was finished.

Stepan put the now empty bucket down on the ground and looked at the Immortal. A thin rivulet of water still trickled down from the corners of his mouth, but somehow his complexion had changed. It wasn’t that ghostly pale anymore, but a more natural one.

Stepan cheered internally. It worked. Only eleven more trips to go.

Five and a half hours and eleven trips to the courtyard well later, Stepan was about to be down and out. Never in his entire life had he worn himself out like this. However, as he slowly slid down the wall facing the skull and bones throne, the Tsarevich knew the torture had been worth it.

With every bucket, Yasha's body regenerated itself. Stepan had watched in awe as bones disappeared under layers of brand-new flesh and a very nice set of abdominal muscles. Colour returned to Yasha's cheeks and his formerly dull eyes took on a shine that hadn’t been there for ages. Stepan had to admit that a healthy Yasha looked even better than his skeletal self, especially with that killer jaw of his and those expressive eyes that reminded Stepan of a snowstorm in winter.

But right now, Yasha looked just as tired as Stepan felt. Regenerating after such a long must have taken a toll on the Immortal.

“Are you okay, Kukla?” the Immortal’s tired voice asked him.

Stepan yawned.

“Yeah, just need some sleep…” his voice trailed off, while his suddenly heavy eye lids dropped and the world went black.

❄✯❄

While both men slept down in the prison cell, they missed following important occurrences.

Anton’s prematurely return with his dark-skinned bosom buddy Triglav, also called Rhodey or Med Medvezhonok.

Anton looking for him, but not finding him.

Jarvis not knowing where to find Stepan.

Anton guessing that Stepan was making an excursion.

Anton heading for his workshop together with Rhodey for an excited talk about the cute Tsarevich and his Tsardom with numerous resources of rare metals and about popping the question at dinner.

Now, about half a day later, things were about to become difficult.

❄✯❄

Stepan awoke with a start. Taking in his surroundings, he slowly realized that he was still in the dungeon. Slowly getting up, he groaned when he stretched his stiff limbs. Looking around, he saw Yasha still chained sitting in his throne. But something was different.

The Immortal was wide awake, but instead looking at Stepan, he looked at the ceiling, a frown on his handsome face.

“What’s wrong, Yasha?” the small tsarevich asked, startling the other man.

Yasha pressed his lips together.

“Trouble. Svarog is back and he brought Triglav with him. They are talking about his proposal to you.” He replied with a hint of anger in his voice.

Stepan paled.

“How do you know that?” he whispered.

“Enhanced Hearing. Perks of being the son of two gods.” Yasha stated.

Stepan stumbled. That couldn’t be true. Anton couldn’t be back yet. He really didn’t want to deal with him right now.

“What do we do now? I can’t face him again. Ever. And I certainly don’t want to marry him.’” The sm0all blonde all but panicked.

Yasha took a deep breath and clenched his fists.

“You won’t have to. I’ll make sure of that.” He reassured the Tsarevich.

With these words, he stood up abruptly and with a muffled cry, he yanked off the manacles from where they were fastened at the walls, tearing down the same until bricks tumbled down to the floor and left two huge holes behind.

With his hands now more moveable, Yasha was able to get rid of his collar and manacles quickly, before turning his attention to the shackles around his feet. The Immortal tore them off as if they were made of paper.

Stepan was impressed by Yasha's escapology, which did take less than a minute. After brushing off the centennial layers of dust, Yasha slowly walked over to the smaller man, suddenly shy as he held out his hand. He cleared his throat.

“We need to go, Kukla. Will you come with me?” he asked quietly.

Stepan smiled at the older man and took his offered hand. It felt cold, but not the kind of cold that makes you want to hide under layers of blankets.

“Of course, I do. But how do we get past the guards?” he wanted to know.

Yasha pulled Stepan close to him.

“Just hold on. It’s going to be a cold and bumpy ride.” He whispered into Stepan’s ear. The Tsarevich nodded and snuggled closer into the Immortal’s chest.

Yasha let out a deep breath. Then his eyes began to glow ice blue and Stepan felt the temperature decreasing quickly. Snow started to whirl around them – at first only slow, then more quickly, until it was getting thicker and thicker and they both were swallowed by the emerging snowstorm.

❄✯❄

In his workshop, Anton and Rhodey were enjoying their second glass of vodka at the fireplace, which occasionally also served as an oven for when he had an inventing session.

“So where is this Tsarevich of yours? Did he skedaddle while you were away?” Rhodey teased the Tsar.

Anton huffed.

“No, he wouldn’t. He loves me. He’s just a bit shy.” He replied.

Rhodey laughed.

“I bet your personality scares him a bit.” He chuckled.

Anton rolled his eyes.

“Don’t say that, Med Medvezhonok. That hurts me.” He sassed back.

Rhodey rolled his eyes fondly. Suddenly, an ice-cold gust of wind coming in through the open window let them both shiver. The fire they had been watching started to flicker wildly before it turned into a blueish frozen sculpture.

“What the hell…?” Anton/Svarog whispered, his eyes narrowing to slits.

“Is it just me or is something going on? Flames simply don’t turn into ice. It’s May, after all.” Rhodey/Triglav stated.

Svarog jumped up and stalked to the open window, only to be greeted by a white wall of swirling snow.

Anton swore a streak. There could be only one reason for this kind of weather. His prisoner was breaking out.

“Come back, you immortal son of a devil. Don’t you dare break out.” He screamed at the howling snownado, only to be thrown through the entire workshop by a heavy blast of wind, hitting the opposite wall with a thump.

“Anton!” Rhodey screamed, running to his fallen friend.

Outside, the Yasha-born storm raged through every corner of Sil'no Castle, before he moved on to the northeast, leaving his prison of two centuries forever behind.

❆✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❆✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄
> 
> **Glossary and Translations:**
> 
>   **Sil’no** \- Stark
> 
>  **Zimnii Morje** \- Winter Sea
> 
>  **Bruklin** – Brooklyn
> 
>  **Domovoi/Domovye** – domestic household spirits
> 
>  **Samovar** – Russian Tea maker
> 
>  **Blini** – Russian Pancakes
> 
>  **Syrniki** \- Cottage Cheese Dumplings
> 
>  **Kolbasa** – Sausage
> 
>  **Styopa** – Nickname variant of Stepan
> 
>  **Pyatnitsa** – Friday
> 
>  **Pelmeni** – Russian Ravioli
> 
>  **Borshch** – Borscht
> 
>  **Kukla** – Doll
> 
>  **Ilya Muromets** \- Russian folk fairy tale hero
> 
>  **Med Medvezhonok** – Little Honey Bear 
> 
>  


	3. Don't mess with the Baba

❆✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄

Part 3: Don’t mess with the Baba

“Okay, how could this happen?” Anton hissed, the fingers of his left arm drumming impatiently on the armrest of his favourite armchair, while the fingers of his right held a full glass of his strongest vodka. He glared at his head Domovoi, Jarvis, who was standing in front of him wearing his old man persona.

The spirit looked apologetic.

“I’m sorry, Sir. That’s all I can say.” He expressed his regret.

Anton huffed.

“Have you found the Tsarevich?” he snapped.

Jarvis shook his head. “The others have searched his room and the whole castle afterwards. However, we couldn’t find him. Either he left the castle for an excursion or the Prisoner took the Tsarevich with him.” He replied.

The loud sound of breaking glass rang through the otherwise silent room. Rhodey glanced at his friend, noticed the broken glass in his clenched fist, the drop of blood that fell on the stone floor, the dark expression his face. He knew that expression. When Svarog wore that special expression, things were usually about to get ugly.

“Svar…” he started, but said God held up his non-injured hand, silencing him.

“Don’t, Med Medvezhonok. This little Podonok has not only my future fiancé in his icy claws, but also the secret to my, our, immortality. I can not and will not tolerate that.” He growled, throwing the broken glass right across the workshop. Rhodey flinched and for a moment, the vision of two more faces on the left and the right of his normal face flickered over his head.

“I don’t think that’s necessary, Sir. I may have noticed that Tsarevich Stepan has been visiting the Prisoner. However, I also may have followed him discreetly.” Jarvis interrupted him.

Anton eyed him impatiently.

“And?” he demanded to know.

The Domovoi stared back at his master, before he continued.

“Your prisoner told him, what he denies you.”

Anton pressed his lips together and resumed his drumming.

“Continue? Or do I have to worm everything out of you?” the God all but snarled at his Domovoi.

“Apparently, his mother hid his soul inside an egg, which is inside a duck, which is inside a hare, which is Inside a chest, which is buried under the roots of Buyan’s strongest tree. You know, Matryoshka principle.” He told them.

Anton's face lit up, as if Dedushka Zima had come early and brought him the biggest gift ever. Joyfully, he clapped his hands together and jumped up.

“This is wonderful news, Jarvis. Now I need only to get my prisoner back. As for you, my dear wonderful J, I have an important task for you.” He shouted.

“And that would be, Sir?”

Anton put his arm around Jarvis’ shoulders.

“You will go to Buyan and did out the egg. Then you will bring it to me, wherever I am. But for now, saddle the horse. I’ve got to find my fiancé.” The Tsar bellowed, leaving his workshop in a hurry.

A dejected Rhodey and an equally confused Jarvis followed him at a distance.

Soon after, the two Gods left Sil'no Castle on their respective horses, heading towards Zimnii Morje.

❄✯❄

Travelling by snowstorm was a lot to getting used to, at least for Stepan. Not only it was cold as hell, but those tiny snow particles had the tendency to crawl into the tiniest openings of his clothing and make his life uncomfortable. On the other side, being in the middle of a storm in the safe arms of an Immortal gave the Tsarevich one hell of an adrenaline rushthem like he never had experienced before.

So, it was a bit of a disappointment when their stormy journey came to a sudden end. One minute, snow was almost covering his small frame. The next minute, Yasha was carrying him bridal-style out of the tempest, floating down to Earth as if he had wings on his back.

The Immortal’s boot-clad feet touched down silently on the mossy earth near the outskirts of an eerie looking forest. Yasha set Stepan down on the trunk before taking a seat next to him.

“Oh my gosh, that was so awesome. We have to repeat that sometime.” The small blonde giggled. He was still bursting with energy from the ride and he really liked that feeling.

Yasha shook his head. Mortals. He’d never understand them. Sometimes they were too alike to his own family. But then some of them had proved to be much better than them. The smaller man next to him was such an example.

Kind-hearted. Brave. Passionate. Open-minded.

All those were attributes of a true warrior. Although Stepan didn’t have the body of one, he certainly had the spirit. Maybe this was the reason, why he felt so drawn to him. Certainly not just for his good looks, Yasha thought with a glance at the Tsarevich, who seemed to come down from his adrenaline rush, and barely resisted to urge blush.

_ Get a grip on yourself _ , Yasha reminded himself. They had still some things to do, after all.

Taking a deep breath, the Immortal stood up.

“We should move on. We need to cross the Forest before Dazhbog has finished his daily journey across the sky.” He said to the Tsarevich. Stepan took in his surroundings. The woods in front of him didn’t exactly look friendly.

On the contrary, it made Stepan shiver just looking at it. Tall, dark trees were standing so close together that they blocked out every single ray of sunshine that tried to get through. A thick white mist swirled up from the damp ground, making it hard to look further than a few metres. Somewhere in the distance he could hear the unmistaken sounds of howling wolves and hooting owls.

“Are you sure we have to go in there? And where are we exactly?” the Tsarevich demanded to know.

Yasha sighed.

“This is the Bewitched Forest. It’s two day’s journey away from Svarog's hideout and not far from Zimnii Morje's border. And yes, we must go in there. We may have a head start, but we’re on foot and he’s most likely chasing us by horse. Ergo, we need horses that are faster than him. Someone I know lives in this forest and has the fastest horses. And we’re going to borrow them.” He explained, holding out his metal hand.

Stepan raised his eyebrows questioningly. Who the hell wanted to live voluntarily in such an environment? On the other side, Yasha was right. They needed to move fast.  But he really didn’t want to go inside that forest…

“Don’t worry, Kukla. It’s going to be alright.” Yasha assured him, shooting him a brief smile.

Stepan still hesitated before he finally sighed and took Yasha's hand. The Immortal smiled and squeezed the small hand encouragingly.

Then they both made the first step into the notorious Bewitched Forest.

Stepan could hear his heart drumming wildly in his chest, as Yasha led him deeper inside the forest, their hands clutched together. The only sounds aside from their breathing was the occasional snapping sound of branches being torn from trees and the steady gurgling of a stream nearby with the faint sound of a giggling woman.

Stepan blinked. A giggling woman here in the forest? What the hell was happening here?

“What’s that sound?” he asked Yasha.

“Swamp Kikimora. Lives in the little marsh near the stream over there.” The Immortal explained, gesturing towards the direction, where the giggles had come from.

“Riiight…” Stepan drawled out. He should have known that nothing should surprise him anymore at this point of their journey. Apparently, he was wrong.

Suddenly Yasha stopped and held up his flesh hand, gesturing for the Tsarevich to hide as quickly as he could. Confused, Stepan uttered a whispered “Why?” at the Immortal. But Yasha gave no answer, but silently grabbed Stepan’s arm and pulled him behind the nearest larch, pressing his body close against Stepan's.

The Tsarevich blushed, when he felt Yasha’s muscular body so close to his. Still he wondered, why they were hiding all of a sudden. Then he heard it. The unmistaken sound of something giant coming closer.

Stepan glanced upwards from his position behind the larch’s trunk and could barely stifle a gasp at the sight of what was passing them right now.

It was a greenish, human-like male thrice his size, looking like an old, grey-bearded peasant. He was just wearing a tattered, forest green tunic and brown trousers, but no boots or other pieces of clothing. Several pine cones were weaved into his dishevelled hair on the head.

Stepan looked questioningly at Yasha, his eyes asking him what kind of creature this giant was.

“That’s the Leshii, Guardian Spirit of this forest. I sensed him, when I heard the Kikimora earlier. To be honest, I’m not necessarily keen on an encounter with him. He can be mean, if someone comes too close to his wife.” Yasha whispered into the blond’s ear.

“His wife?” Stepan whispered back.

“The Kikimora.”

“Oh.”

“Let’s just wait until he goes back to her. Then we should be able to move on.”

Stepan just nodded, his eyes never leaving the Woodland Spirit. The Leshii had stopped moving. He only turned his head around, his large nose sniffing the air like a predator searching for prey.

The Tsarevich didn’t dare to move. He just pleaded to his sisters that he’d survive this encounter. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, the Leshii grunted and turned around, slowly moving back into the direction of the swamp.

They waited a few more minutes, just to be sure that the Leshii was gone. Only then Stepan let out a deep breath which he had been holding back. Yasha let go off the Tsarevich and brushed off some imaginary dust from the smaller man’s tunic.

“Gosh, that was close.” Stepan exclaimed.

Yasha nodded approvingly.

“We should move on. Our destination is still a few kilometres away.” He replied.

“Okay.” Stepan answered back and reached for Yasha's hand. Giving the Immortal a reassuring smile.

They walked on and on, passed small hills and clear streams. At last, Yasha stopped walking.

“We’re here.” He said short and crisp, gesturing at the brown spot on the hill in the distance.

Stepan's eyes became wide like saucers when he recognized  **_What_ ** exactly was on the high ground in front of them.

“Are you shitting me?” he deadpanned.

Yasha's smirk was the only answer he got.

Stepan sighed.

“Listen, Kukla. I know you don’t want to be here. But the Baba has the fastest horses in Sil'no and we need them. The only problem is that she doesn’t like me and I don’t like her. But she hates Svarog’s and Triglav’s guts even more, which makes her kind of a friend. You know the whole the-enemy-of-my-enemy-is-my-friend thing.” Yasha explained to him.

Stepan sighed again, but had to admit that Yasha was probably right.

He was so screwed.

❄✯❄

Hidden deeply in the woods, there was a hut. It was an average hut, maybe a bit on the shabby side, but still good in shape for its age. Then again, it wasn’t that average, because it stood on two giant chicken legs.

Its tenant called it affectionately Krasnaya Khizhina – the Red Hut – although there was not a single spot on the hut that was red. Said tenant was the notorious Baba Alexandrova, grandson of the even more notorious Baba Yaga. The Baba was also called Tjotushka by his favourite and only nephew, Brock “The Nightingale Robber” Rumlow and his merry men.

Right now, the Baba was enjoying a day off from having to deal with annoying Tsareviches and their everlasting quests for power, money and true love. Schmidt was dozing as usual in his favourite spot on the oven, while Zola did the same in his favourite corner next to the back door.

Baba Alexandrova himself sat at his table and scowled at the letter in his hands, which Brock had written to him in his usual messy handwriting. The little rascal and his merry men were currently on the lookout for new playgrounds, since their old ones here in Sil'no had become somewhat boring.

Still, his handwriting was abysmal, just like his manners. The Baba made a mental note to talk to his sister about her complete lack of parenting skills. Huffing, he began to read aloud.

“Dear Tjotja,

Me and the Boys won’t be around in the next few months. I’ve decided to go to Bruklin for the Summer and have my fun there. See you in the Winter and don’t die until then. Although, if you die, can I have your hut? It’s so cosy and my boys and I need quarters for the Winter.

Lots of Love

Your only nephew, Brock.”

The Baba glared at the letter, before he crumpled up the piece of paper and threw it into the crackling flames, which blazed in the open fireplace of the oven. Abysmal manners, he growled, while he stood up and walked over to the oven to pour himself a cup of tea from his old, battered Samovar.

Just when he had filled his cup, his Krasnaya Khizhina started to move jerkily. Baba Alexandrova promptly lost his equilibrium and poured the very hot content of his cup all over his favourite mud-brown ragged dress.

The Baba swore vilely, as the hot liquid burned his sensitive skin. He all but chucked the mug against the back door, causing Schmidt to hiss at him, when parts of the broken teacup hit the black, red-faced cat.

“Oh, shut up!” the witch snarled at him and stomped over to the front door, throwing open the wooden door.

“What do want? You’ve got some nerves to disturb me on my day off.” The Baba barked at the intruders in front of them.

“Well, hello to you, too.” A voice replied that the Baba hadn’t heard in centuries.

The witch inhaled sharply and narrowed his eyes at Yasha and Stepan, who were standing right in front of him.

“Oh, it’s you. I thought you were dead.” The Baba deadpanned. Yasha snorted. “Hardly.” was his only reply.

The Baba crossed his arms in front of his shoulders, effectively blocking their way into the hut.

“And what do you want from me? Surely, you’re not here for an afternoon coffee party.” He snarled.

“No, we’re not. But could we take this inside? I don’t want another encounter with the Leshii today.” Yasha suggested, keeping Stepan slightly behind his back.

The old witch grimaced at the mere mention of his sworn nemesis and rolled his eyes.

“Fine, whatever. Come on in then!” the Baba gestured for them to join him in his humble abode.

Yasha took Stepan's hand and accompanied the Tsarevich inside. The Baba scowled again before he closed the door shut behind them.

❄✯❄

Stepan had no idea what to expect when they approached the chicken-legged shack on the hill. Sure, he knew who supposedly lived in such a home. However, he didn’t know that Yasha knew the Baba. But then, the Immortal had lived longer than he had and that way knew people that were like him.

So it didn’t surprise him that Yasha started flirting with the hut, if only to charm his way in. At least, it seemed to work. While the hut started to turn around to show its front door, they could hear loud curses from inside, followed by a shattering sound.

Then the door was thrown open and the notorious Baba appeared in the entrance. Stepan's eyes widened at the sight of the ugliest woman, man or whatever the Baba was, on which he had the misfortune to lay his eyes on.

The witch - hag - wore a mud-brown dress with a very prominent tea stain on his chest, on her head a makeshift turban of the same colour. But the most striking feature were the two upstanding tusks in his lower jaw. And the Baba wasn’t exactly the friendliest person to be around. But at least, he let them in, albeit reluctantly.

Inside the hut, Yasha ushered Stepan on the small bench at the table and sat down next to him. The small Tsarevich suddenly had the feeling that he was being observed. From the corner of his eyes, he saw a male cat watching him intensely. He had deep black fur and red facial hair, which gave him the impression of having a red skull for a face. Stepan normally liked cats, but he shuddered at the thought of having such a cat as a pet.

“Want some tea?” the Baba barked.

Yasha gave him his sweetest smile.

“Yes, please.” He answered back.

The Baba huffed and stalked over to the fireplace with his Samovar. He grabbed two more mugs and filled them with steaming hot tea, before all but slamming them on the table in front of Yasha and Stepan.

“Thanks.” The blond murmured and blew on the hot liquid before taking a sip. He grimaced at the strange taste, but didn’t say anything. In the meantime, the Baba took place opposite the two men, resting his chin on his hands.

“So, how’s your grandma, Baba?” Yasha asked.

“Fine. Married her childhood sweetheart Koschei. What do you want, Yasha?” the witch snapped at the Immortal.

Yasha took a sip of his tea without grimacing, before he started.

“Actually, we need one of your horses and provisions for one day.” Yasha stated, his eyes never leaving the old hag’s face.

Baba Alexandrova stared right back at the Immortal, his eyes narrowing.

“Hmmm, let me think about it……NO!” he retorted.

Yasha sighed.

“That’s too bad. I guess then we have to wait here until Svarog and Triglav arrive and discuss this later.” The Immortal suggested, a sad sound in his voice.

The Baba's eyes narrowed even more.

“What the hell do those two slimy asshole Gods have to do with you and your boy toy being here in my Krasnaya Khizhina?” he hissed.

“Aside from keeping me prisoner for two centuries, from wanting my secret of immortality or generally being asses? I just want to settle our differences on my ground, not on his.” Yasha insisted.

The witch pressed his lips together, but said nothing. At least not for a long moment.

“You’re going to kick their Godly asses?” he finally asked.

Yasha cracked a smile. The Baba was finally relenting.

“You can bet your mortar on it.” He chuckled.

Baba Alexandrova huffed.

“I’d rather not. But okay, you can have the horse and the provision. However, don’t tell anyone that I’m being nice to you or I’ll sick Schmidt on you.”

Yasha held up his hands in defence.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He said.

The Baba rolled his eyes and gestured for the two other men to follow him outside.

“Fine. Follow me.” He grumbled.

Stepan and Yasha got up and followed the Baba outside to a small stable, which the Tsarevich hadn’t noticed until now. The three of them entered it and Stepan saw the two most beautiful stallions in the single stall.

One of the stallion’s fur was dark as the night, but shimmered purple in the twilight. The other stallion’s fur on the other side was brown like his sisters’ hair. Stepan was in love with them at once.

The Baba gestured at an old, vermiculated wardrobe.

“You can take Clint and Filipp. Provisions are in the cupboard and bridles are in the corner. You know how to put on the bridle. I’m going to show myself out.” He explained hastily before turning on the spot and stalking back to his hut.

“Thanks, Baba!” Yasha shouted after him.

“Khuy tebe!“ the witch shouted back, holding up his middle finger.

Yasha laughed. Stepan blinked.

“That was strange.” The Tsarevich stated.

“He’s like that. But at least we got, what we wanted. Can you look in the wardrobe if you find something eatable that isn’t mouldy, while I bridle the horses?” Yasha asked and strode over to the corner, where the bridles were laying.

Stepan nodded and went to the Baba's wardrobe. Opening it, he grimaced at its contents. Sure, there was food inside, but most of it was already rotten. Still, he managed to find something that at least looked like it wouldn’t eat them alive, and put it in a sack together with four flasks of water.

“I’m ready. Are you, Yasha?” the Tsarevich asked, walking back to the stall.

Yasha fastened the second saddle on Filipp.

“Ready when you are, Kukla. Just a question. Have you ever ridden a horse?” the Immortal asked.

Now it was Stepan's turn to blush.

“Well, it’s been a while, but I have.” He stammered, burying his face into Clint’s mane.

Yasha smiled at the smaller blond.

“We take it slow then.” He suggested.

“Thanks.” Stepan smiled back thankfully.

The Immortal helped Stepan get into Clint’s saddle, before he fastened the sack with their provisions behind his own and then mounted Filipp.

They rode in a slow pace through the forest, until Stepan became more confident in the saddle. Only then, they dared to increase the speed. Although he hadn’t ridden much in his life, Stepan loved it.

Clint was such a gentle stallion and never disobeyed his commands, although the Tsarevich had the suspicion that the horse was partially deaf since he only reacted to his commands when he said them on the mount’s left side.

Another aspect of going on horseback was that he could watch Yasha discreetly. Seeing on a stallion with his hair fluttering in the wind was such a huge change to the half-skeletonized man, which he had found in Svarog's dungeon. This man was carefree, as if nothing in the world could harm him. A man, he found himself falling in love with.

Stepan blushed and gripped Anzhela’s amulet tightly, which was under his tunic. Maybe, when this all was over….

The ride through the Bewitched Forest seemed to last for hours, until the eternal darkness finally started to lift and Stepan could finally see light at the end of the woods. It was the red-orange light of the sinking sun mixed with a glittering ice-blue.

Filipp came to a halt and Stepan told Clint to do the same.

“What’s wrong, Yasha?” the Tsarevich asked in a worried voice.

The Immortal stared with a happy smile at the strange mix of colours, tears suddenly running down his cheeks.

“Are you okay?” Stepan raised his voice, very concerned about Yasha's sudden change of mood.

The Immortal sniffed.

“Nothing’s wrong, Kukla. I…It’s just…It’s just the first time in centuries that I’m so close to home.” He whispered.

Stepan bit his lip and nudged Clint to get closer to Filipp. The stallion slowly trotted over to his companion, so that the small blond could get a hold of Yasha's shaking metal hand and squeeze it affectionately.

“There’s nothing wrong with being homesick. Just as long as you get home at all…” he said quietly.

Yasha stared back at the smaller Tsarevich. Once again, he thought of what he had done to deserve this light in his dark life. He cleared his throat.

“We better make camp at the edge of the forest. You don’t want to spend the night in here.” He suggested, hiding his face behind the curtain of his hair.

Stepan sensed that the Immortal didn’t want to talk further at the moment, so he just sighed.

“Okay, then let’s move on.” he said and nudged Clint. The stallion trotted on with Filipp following him. Both men rode in silence, until they finally made it out of the Bewitched Forest. Stepan took a deep breath, when saw Zimnii Morje's legendary ice wall just a few hundred metres away from him.

The sight was breath-taking. It reached from the right horizon to the left, as far as his eyes could see. The last rays of sunlight were refracted by the glassy structure of the wall, made it look like it consisted of thousands of tiny rainbows.

“It’s beautiful, Yasha.” Stepan whispered.

The Immortal dismounted from Filipp.

“Yes, it is.” he agreed, before he untied their provisions sack and started to look for some deadwood to start a fire. Stepan helped him by tying Clint and Filipp at a single tree not far away from it.

Neither of them spoke a word, but they both knew that whatever would happen the next day, it would change their whole lives. 

❆✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've hidden an easter egg in this part. Kudos to the one, who finds it.
> 
> ❆✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄
> 
> Glossary and Translations:
> 
> **Sil’no** \- Stark
> 
> **Zimnii Morje** \- Winter Sea
> 
> **Bruklin** – Brooklyn
> 
> **Med Medvezhonok** – Little Honey Bear
> 
> **Podonok** – Fucker
> 
> **Matryoshka** – Russian Nesting doll
> 
> **Dedushka Zima** – Reference to one of my other fics, where Bucky is Morozki or Dedushka Moroz (Father Frost), the Russian equivalent to Santa Claus
> 
> **Kukla** – Doll
> 
> **Swamp Kikimora** – Female Swamp Spirit
> 
> **Leshii** – Male Guardian Spirit of the Forest, Enemy of the Baba and rumoured to be married to the Swamp Kikimora
> 
> **Krasnaya Khizhina** – Red Hut - > the Baba’s pet name for her home
> 
> **Tjotja/Tjotjushka** – Auntie
> 
> **Schmidt** – The Baba’s pet cat; black fur with a red, skull-like face
> 
> **Zola** – The Baba’s pet pig
> 
> **Khuy tebe!** – Fuck you!


	4. Homecoming

❆✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄

Part 4: Homecoming

Although it wasn’t that hard for Anton and Rhodey to follow the trail of his escaped prisoner, they just needed to follow the melting snow after all, they reached the last village before the Bewitched Forest just at the brink of sunset. Anton knew that going in the Forest by night was too dangerous even for Gods like them, and chose to stay in an inn for the night. Although it meant that they would lose precious time.

While they waited for the innkeeper to deliver their food, Triglav enjoyed the warmth of the open fireplace. Anton on the other side fumbled around with a small, round device, which he wore around his wrist. The deity pressed a few hidden buttons at the side and the device came to life.

Anton held it close to his mouth and began to speak.

“J, can you hear me?” he asked.

He could hear some static sounds, before the Domovoi’s accented voice came through.

“Only very badly, Sir.” The spirit replied.

“Whatever. Have you found the egg yet?” Anton demanded to know.

“Unfortunately not, Sir. Apparently, your brother Perun is battling Veles on the outskirts of the island again and caused a magical storm as a result, so that no one can enter the island for as long as they are at it.”

Anton groaned.

“Damn Perun, damn Veles. Can’t those two settle their differences at another time?” he all but swore. Sighing, Sil'no's Tsar spoke again. “Fine. Keep Trying!”

“Certainly, Sir.” The Domovoi promised him.

Anton ended the conversation and let himself fall into the other armchair next to Rhodey's. His brown eyes stared into the blazes of the fireside.

This was getting out of hand. If he had had his way, Bruklin's Tsarevich would be his by now and Bruklin's resources also. But no, the small blond had to discover his prisoner and weapon and let himself be captured by him. At least, he knew Yasha's secret now, although it was of no use to him right now except for keeping him in check.

But the worst thing was that there was no way to avoid a meeting with the Baba. Gods, how he hated that old hag and his shack on chicken legs. He’d rather kiss the Leshii and the Swamp Kikimora than speak more than one word with that sad excuse of a cross-dressing man.

At least the feeling was mutual. Anton knew that the Baba hated him just as much as he and Rhodey did.

“Everything alright, Tones?” Rhodey asked him.

“Just peachy.” Anton snapped before sighing. “Sorry, I just want to be over with this hunt.”

His friend clapped the fire deity’s armoured shoulder.

“And we will. We just need to gather our strength.” He said.

Anton pressed his lips together and nodded. Rhodey was right. Tonight, they’d rest. Tomorrow, they’d resume their hunt. With all the consequences.

❄✯❄

After a sparse meal, Yasha had felt so tired because from the day’s events that he called it an early night and retreated to where their horses were resting. Stepan couldn’t blame him. Conjuring up a snowstorm must have drained his powers after such a long time.

Still, he had no idea what he would do, when Svarog and Triglav finally caught up with them up with them. Except for the occasional brawl in the past, he had no fighting experience whatsoever. He may have the spirit of a warrior, but certainly not the body.

Stepan sighed and looked up at the starlit sky.

“What do I do, Angie? Can you help me?” he pleaded to his sister-in-law.

The two stars near Polaris twinkled and suddenly became brighter, building up a bridge made of pure starlight down to the ground in front of him. The two stars travelled down the bridge, becoming brighter and brighter, until the Morning and the Evening Star were standing before him.

While Anzhela wore her usual golden dress, Peggy wore the same, but in silver. Where Angie wore her sword, Peggy now had two Khanjalis, one on each side. Stepan had to admit that his little sister looked stunning and so grown-up.

“Pegs, you look beautiful.” He exclaimed, embracing his sibling as if he hadn’t seen her in ages.

“And you look like a mess. What on earth are you doing here of all places?” Peggy laughed and hugged her brother back.

“That’s a long story.” Stepan started.

“Well, we have an hour. So why don’t you start now? Isn’t that right, Ange?” Peggy nudged her wife, before she noticed that Angie was frowning at something near the horses.

“Is everything alright, Dorogaya?“ the Evening Star asked her.

“No…Is that Yasha?” Angie asked her brother-in-law, after she had carefully taken a closer look at the sleeping figure.

Peggy looked confused. What was going on here?

“Who is Yasha?” She asked her brother and her spouse.

Anzhela sighed.

“My lost cousin. We’ve been looking for him for ages. So please tell me, Stepan. Why are you here with him?” she pleaded.

The blond Tsarevich sighed.

“That’s a long story.” He explained. Angie conjured up three simple stools made of starlight and sat down on hers, waiting for the other two to join her.

“We still have some time left. Please tell me what happened.” Angie requested. Stepan sat down as did Peggy and he began to tell the Zoryas, what had happened, while his sister held his hand.

Stepan told them of Anton’s invitation and how Wanda forced him to accept, because she couldn’t cope with his moping (Peggy had to smile at that.). Told them of Anton’s creepy advances. Told them, how he had found Yasha in Anton's/Svarog's dungeon, chained and half-skeletonized. Told them of their spectacular escape from Svarog's castle and their encounter with the Baba.

The more Stepan told them, the grimmer became Angie's expression became, while Peggy just shook her head in view of such treason coming from one of the Gods.

“I see!” Angie finally spoke, pressing her lips together. Peggy could sense that her wife was very displeased. Not with Stepan, but with her Uncle. She couldn’t blame her. It was not every day that one learned that someone from the family had imprisoned their own flesh and blood.

“What can I do now? I’m not exactly in shape for a possible fight. And I really want to help Yasha, because…” Stepan whispered furiously, only to stutter when it came to the most important point.

The Morning Star directed her blue gaze at the blushing smaller blond, eying him from head to toe.

“…you’re in love with him.” She stated the obvious, cracking a smile.

“Really?” Peggy exclaimed and looked at her now flushed looking brother.

Stepan just nodded, keeping his face directed at the ground. This was so embarrassing. The two stars looked at him with now grinning faces and the Tsarevich wished the ground would swallow him on the spot. Angie and Peggy looked at each other, before Angie stood up and knelt next to the Tsarevich, her left gloved hand clapping his bony shoulder.

“Stepan, please look at me.” Angie pleaded in a gentle voice. Stepan obeyed her and gazed at her from the corner of his eyes.

“Do you know why I choose your sister as my spouse?” the Morning Star asked him.

Stepan shook his head.

“I’ve watched your family from above way before all of you were even born.  Because I always knew that you were special in a way. You, Peggy, Natasha and Jane. Now I know that I was right. I’ve found the other half of my soul in Peggy, just as Sam did in Natasha and Thor in Jane.

And seeing my long-lost cousin here with, I think you found your half in him. That’s right, don’t you think?” she explained to him.

Stepan’s eyes widened. He had never thought about that before. Now that Angie mentioned it…

Yasha really could be the other half of his soul. Why else would he have come back to him every night in Svarog's prison? He wouldn’t have done this for every man.

“I think you may be right.” Stepan whispered.

Angie smiled a real smile this time, before she heaved herself up and then helped Peggy up.

“Well then, we have to go now, but I’ll tell my aunt and my other uncles what happened. This won’t go unpunished.” She told him.

Stepan nodded. This was good to hear. However, he still no solution to his problem.

“But what about my problem?” he asked again, while he followed the two Stars away from the fire.

Angie chuckled and took her wife’s hand.

“There is a simple solution. You need more vitamins. I’ve heard apples have plenty of them.” She laughed.

“Huh?” Stepan looked confused. What the hell was his sister-in-law talking about?

Peggy leaned forward and hugged her brother goodbye.

“Don’t think so hard about it, Stepushka. You know what they. One apple a day keeps the doctor away. A few apples more…who knows.” She whispered into Stepan's ear, before she let go of him.

The Tsarevich still wondered what they were talking about, when it hit suddenly. Why hadn’t he thought about that? Thor’s golden apples.

“Ohhhh…” It escaped his lips.

“I think he got it, Dorogaya!” Peggy laughed.

“Sorry.” Stepan murmured, blushing furiously.

The two Stars laughed, before the starlight bridge appeared and they disappeared in the light waving at him. Stepan waited until the bridge had disappeared, too, before going back to their campfire. He grabbed his bag and fetched the small sack out of it. He opened the golden velvet cloth and stared at the small apples.

Thor had given him five apples as a present. He could eat three and maybe keep two as a spare.  When his gaze fell upon Clint, who didn’t seem to be asleep just like Yasha and Filipp, Stepan made a decision. He strode over to the stallion and offered him the smallest apple. Clint looked at him questioningly.

“Just eat it! But don’t tell Yasha.” Stepan replied. Clint snorted and headbutted him lightly, but grabbed the apple with his teeth and chewed it happily.

Stepan sat down on the ground and began to eat his own. The fruits were sweet and juicy, just like he knew it from home. The Tsarevich practically devoured them, enjoying every single bit of the pulp. He left one apple in case of an emergency and put it back into his bag.

Suddenly he fest very tired, the day’s events finally catching up with him. Stepan crawled over to the sleeping Immortal and within minutes he was asleep next to his soulmate.

The next day, he was woken up by the intense feeling of someone shaking him awake. Feeling absolutely shattered, Stepan groaned and forced his heavy eyelids to open. To his surprise, he found himself in Yasha's lap. The Immortal stared at him saucer eyed, his mouth opening and closing, as if he struggled to find the right words.

“Morning, Yasha.” Stepan greeted him.

“What the hell happened to you, Kukla?” The Immortal asked him unbelievingly.

Stepan frowned.

“What do you mean?” he wanted to know. Yasha didn’t answer, but gestured with his flesh arm at him from head to toe. The Tsarevich sat up and looked down at himself. 

His eyes became wide as saucers, when he realized that his usually skinny self had become godlike overnight. Where there had been only bones and skin before, he now had muscles and thick, athletic thighs. Additional to that, he could feel the strength in his hand and he seemed to have grown a bit.

Stepan hauled himself up, pulling Yasha up with him. Yep, he had grown. Now he was just as tall as the Immortal.

Yasha was still staring at him like he was a dragon or something. Stepan looked sheepishly.

“I just ate some apples, which my brother-in-law had given me. More vitamins, you know.” He argued, knowing that was a dumb answer. He could hear Clint neighing hysterically in the background and couldn’t blame the stallion. But he was a bad liar. That’s the way it was.

Yasha raised a questioning eyebrow, but choose not to comment on this.

“Whatever you say, Kukla.” Was his only answer. Then he strode over to their almost extinct campfire and kindled the flame once more to take care of their breakfast.

They ate their sparsely meals in silence, occasionally sending glances at each other. When they were finished, Yasha extinguished the flames and packed the remaining provisions in the sack and fastened it behinds Filipp’s saddle.

Stepan took Clint's rein and led him to the ice wall, where Yasha was already waiting for him.

“So, what are we doing now?” he asked the Immortal.  Yasha turned his head to look at the now not so small blond. Holding out his flesh hand, he replied: “This.”

With this word, he touched the glass-like ice structure. The barrier began to glow brightly and Stepan could hear a loud cracking sound as the wall started to break down. Fine lines ran across the structure, icy blue light emitting from the cracks. More and more lines appeared, until suddenly the whole formation exploded and disappeared in a whirl of myriads of tiny blue snowflakes.

Yasha grabbed Stepan quickly and shielded him with his body until the magical snow had disappeared. Only then, the Immortal let the Tsarevich go, although this time his touch lingered a little longer on the blond. Stepan didn’t mind at all. The more Yasha touched him, the more Stepan was sure that Angie had been right. Yasha was the other half of his soul.

The Tsarevich looked away from the immortal and into what had been behind the wall for so long. Stifling a gasp, he couldn’t believe how breath-taking Zimnii Morje was.

Wide plains, gentle hills, a mountain range that partly belonged to his own Tsardom, and everything was covered with pure white snow. In the distance, he could see six different onion domes, which seemed to belong to Yasha's palace. On the horizon, he could spot the sea. Stepan had never seen the sea in entire life. It was awesome.

“Do you like the view?” Yasha's gentle voice asked him. Stepan smiled at him.

“It’s beautiful.” He replied. And he meant it.

“Then let’s go.”

Yasha helped Stepan mount Clint and then mounted Filipp. Together they went into Zimnii Morje for the first time in two hundred years.

❄✯❄

Anton should have known that entering the Bewitched Forest had been a stupid idea.

He and Rhodey had left the inn at the brink of dawn and entered the Forest two hours later. After a near encounter with the Leshii, they needed another hour, until they spotted the Krasnaya Khizhina with its back door turned towards them.

Anton just hoped that the Baba wasn’t in a bad temper today, as he flirted with the hut so that it showed his front to them. He really should have known better.

As soon as the hut had started turning, the Baba had flung open the door and started screaming, as soon as the witch had laid his eyes on the two Gods.

“Get out of my sight, you Synov'ya suki! This is my territory. If you don’t get out of here, Schmidt will show you the way out.” He screamed at top of his voice, causing not only Anton’s ears to ring.

Svarog snorted.

“Really? Your cat will show us the way out? We don’t need directions, old hag.” He taunted.

“Anton, please don’t.” Rhodey growled warningly.

Too late.

The Baba narrowed his eyes and the next thing Anton knew was that a fluffy black ball landed in his precious face, hissing angrily at the Tsar. Four razor-sharp claws dug themselves deep into the God’s skin, drawing rivulets of deep-red blood. The Baba had thrown Schmidt right into Svarog’s face and let the angry feline do the dirty work.

Anton screamed and cursed in pain.

“Blyad'! Take that damn mudak cat from my face.” He all but shrieked.

Rhodey tried to grab the annoyed tabby, but also received a deep scratch and kicked Schmidt off Anton. The black cat hissed at them and fled back into the sanctum sanctorum that was the Baba's hut.

The Baba wasn’t amused that Triglav had treated his darling like that. He turned his head back into the hut.

“Metla, sweep them away. I want them off my territory.” The witch screeched.

Anton and Triglav had barely time to catch their breaths, before an old, battered broom came flying out of the hut and right onto them. The two gods groaned and tried to cover their heads with their arms as good they could, considering that the old sweeper tried to beat the crap out of them.

“Okay, I admit I may have made a grave mistake.” Anton admitted with gritted teeth.

“Oh really?” Rhodey deadpanned.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.” Anton shouted.

The  Gods clapped spurs to their horses and galloped the hell away from the Baba's shack under the witch’s loud cheering.

“Yeah, take that, slimy asshole Gods. And don’t come back. EVER!!!” the Baba yelled after them, before whistling loudly. At once, his faithful broom returned to him. The witch caught it and went back inside his house with a huff, slamming the door shut especially noisy.

A few kilometres away from the hut, the two gods rode at a slower pace, as Svarog’s wrist device started beeping. He pressed the hidden button and asked:

“J, is that you?”

“Yes, Sir. I just wanted to inform you that I found the egg.” The domestic spirit notified him.

Anton's face lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Well done, J. Meet us at Zimnii Morje's palace. I can’t wait to see his face, when I show him the thing.” He cackled.

“Certainly, Sir.” Jarvis replied.

Anton ended the connection and took a deep breath.

“And?” Rhodey asked.

“Everything’s going to be fine, Med Medvezhonok.” Anton said in a way too calm voice. “We just need to catch up with them. Quickly.”

The God raised his head to the from treetops covered sky.

“Hear me, my brothers, winds of the north and the east and the west. I need your help. Get us to Zimnii Morje as quickly as possible.” He shouted.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then a gust of wind caused the leafage above them to rustle. Then another one. A third, stronger gust. Anton smiled and gripped his reins tightly.

“Hold on, Rhodeykins. It’s going to be a bumpy flight.”

❄✯❄

It didn’t take Yasha and Stepan long to reach the Palace, which was enthroned near the edge of a coastal cliff.

Once they had set foot on the Tsardom's ground, Clint and Filipp seemed to be flying. Stepan not only enjoyed the ride, but also watched Yasha flourish like a rare flower. He could tell that the snow was his element, just like the spring was his favourite season.

After a two-hour ride through deserted territory, both men finally saw the five blue, onion-domed towers that formed the heart of the palace. Unlike Sil'no Castle, Yasha's home looked like a real live ice sculpture with the deep blue sea in the back. It was overwhelming.

They rode through the open castle gate into the inner courtyard, which turned out to be a small garden with a pond and a pavilion, which was made of pure ice.

Yasha dismounted and Stepan followed his example. While the Immortal led the two horses into what seemed to be the stables, the Tsarevich admired the castle from outside, mostly because it reminded him so much of his own.

“Do you like my home?” Yasha's voice rang out from behind.

Stepan turned his head towards the older man. Yasha had a fond smile on his face, as he looked around.

“Yes, it’s breath-taking here.” The blond answered with a shy grin on his face. Yasha beamed at him and grabbed him by the hands, pulling him to the entrance of one of the towers, which led to an elaborately curved flight of stairs. They climbed it and Stepan was amazed to learn that in his new body his lungs didn’t try to kill like it’d have when he was still his skinny self.

The stairs led inside and into what seemed to be the throne room. Instead of his skull and bones in Svarog's prison, Yasha's original throne was formed out of ice and snow crystals, glittering in the incidental light. Stepan could see the same adornments all over the room. A simple, but effective method of decoration and not too overloaded.

Yasha walked slowly towards his throne, his flesh fingers gently touching the intricate snowflakes on the throne’s backrest. The immortal took a deep breath and sat down.

It was strange to see Yasha sitting on that throne. And yet, he belonged there.

“Before all this, they used to call me the Winter Tsar, you know.” His gentle voice echoed through the empty room. Stepan could sense that this all was a bit much for the immortal. He strode over to the throne and knelt in front of him, taking both of Yasha's hands, squeezing them gently.

“No one blames you, Yasha. It wasn’t your fault.” He tried to soothe the distressed Immortal.

Tear welled up in the brunette man’s eyes.

“You’re too good for me, Kukla. How can I ever thank and repay you for what you’ve done.” Yasha sniffled.

Stepan smiled at the other man.

“You don’t have to. It’s really okay for me. Because how can I not help the other half of my soul?” he argued.

Yasha’s eyes widened in shock. What had Stepan just said? But now that he mentioned it…

There had been a reason why Stepan had felt so familiar. And why the stubborn blond had refused to leave him alone in his prison…

“You might be right on that.” Yasha chuckled. Stepan’s face lit up and he fished Anzhela's gift out from under his tunic. He pulled it over his head and let it slide into Yasha's hands. The Immortal looked at him confused.

“Angie gave me this for my one true love. I think this belongs to you.” Stepan explained.

Yasha shook his head.

“Sounds like a typical gift from her. But then, she’s my second favourite cousin.” He snickered.

“And who’s your favourite?” Stepan wanted to know.

“Sam.” Yasha fired right away.

Stepan laughed. “Yeah, he’s cool.” He agreed.

They both stared at each. Then Yasha looked at the Tsarevich and then at the amulet.

“Would you…” he gestured at the amulet and then his neck.

“Of course.” Stepan grabbed the amulet and stood up. Leaning forwards, he fastened the chain around Yasha's neck. The amulet flashed golden for a moment, momentarily blinding Stepan and causing him to lose his footing, so that he ended up in Yasha's lap.

The Immortal blushed. Having Stepan in his arms felt so right. And those lips…

“You can kiss me, if you want.” The Tsarevich whispered. The blond stared at the immortal and Yasha stared back. This time, Stepan decided to be the brave one. He pulled Yasha's face close to him and pressed his lips on the Immortal’s.

It was by no means  **_the_ ** perfect first kiss, but for them it was. Yasha felt something connect, as they kissed, and so did Stepan. Suddenly, the world felt whole at once.

When they finally let go, both men smiled at each other.

“I could get used to this.” Stepan said.

“Yeah. Me too.”

They were so engrossed in each other that Yasha almost noticed too late that the incidental light had dimmed visibly. He inhaled sharply.

“They are coming.” The Immortal stated.

He looked at Stepan and the Tsarevich nodded. They would do this together.

“Come on then.” Yasha said. They both got up and Yasha pulled Stepan with him. Adjacent to the throne room was an armoury. Yasha opened a hidden cabinet in one of the pillars, revealing a badass sword that was almost as big as Stepan’s old self. Taking it, he looked around where Stepan was.

The Tsarevich itself had no idea what to take. He wasn’t as weapon-trained as his sisters, but he needed something to defend himself. His gaze fell on a silver shield with a red star in the middle. He shrugged. It was better than nothing. Grabbing it, he took Yasha's outstretched metal hand. Together they ran out of the palace and waited under the open front gates.

Above them, the sky was covered with dark clouds and the wind was freshening up rapidly. Yasha knew these winds. The winds of the North, the West and the East – his Uncles. In the distance, he could spot two figures coming closer very quickly.

The Winter Tsar clenched his flesh fist. He waited, until they were within sight. Then his eyes began to glow the same ice-blue, like they had back in Svarog's subterranean prison. Snow began to swirl in a thick cloud around the not-metal hand, which the Immortal hid behind his back. Yasha waited, until the two gods had landed a few metres away from them.

Anton stopped his horse and grinned, when he saw his two targets standing there, presenting themselves on a white platter.

“Aww, that’s awfully nice of you to wait for us. That spares us all nerves and time. So, if you’d like to come with us, Weapon and Styopa…by the way, those abs look nice on you!” Sil'no's Tsar taunted them, while Rhodey rolled his eyes and shook his head in face of Anton's not so clever tactic.

Yasha threw him an icy smile, before his right arm darted forth and he threw a vortex of ice and snow at the two Gods, striking them right in the chest.

“Dream on, Dyadya!” he hissed.

Anton and Rhodey were flung out of their saddles and ended up in a large snowdrift. Groaning, they shovelled themselves with their bare hands out of the deep pile of snow.

“Okay, it seems he doesn’t want to play nice.” Anton whispered angrily and heaved himself up, cracking his neck. He stomped through the snow to his mare and drew his favourite Rurik from its sheath, before he stormed towards Yasha and Stepan's position. The Immortal immediately fell in a fighting stance, while the Tsarevich held up his Shield to shielded his love.

Anton ignored Triglav's warning shout and attacked them both at once. Stepan repelled his attack and shoved the God of Fire back, surprised over his own strength. Anton fired some sort of bolas at the blond, which wrapped themselves around the Tsarevich's feet. With a loud “Oomph” he fell to the ground.

While Stepan tried to free himself from the ‘shackles’ with the help of his trusty new defence, Yasha attacked his Uncle with his own Rurik and Svarog's ‘gift’.

Sword blades danced.

Metal hand met metal armour.

Sparks flew.

Meanwhile, Stepan had wriggled free and found himself facing Triglav, who tried to help his oldest friend, although he knew that Anton was the one to blame for the situation he was in. Unfortunately for the three-headed God and despite the fact that he was a God of War, Stepan punched Rhodey five times with his shield in the face, making good use of his newfound strength and combining it with his natural hot-headed streak. The dark-skinned God fell into the snow, unconscious, while Stepan rushed to Yasha's aid.

Yasha's and Anton’s fight alternated between sword fighting and punching the life out of each other. When Stepan joined in, the fight got even worse. It alternated between Yasha kicking and punching Anton with his metal arm and Anton trying to punch him back, but Steve deflecting those punches with his shield.

Finally, Yasha managed to get a good hit into Anton's slightly demolished face and the older God joined his buddy in the snow. The Immortal and Stepan breathed heavily and stared at the fallen Svarog.

“It’s over, Dyadya.” Yasha growled. Anton looked at his nephew scornfully.

“Do what you have to do. But you are and will stay nothing more than a weapon to me.” He hissed. Yasha pressed his lips together and raised his sword.

Suddenly, something golden flashed in Anton's hand. With glee in his brown eyes, he stretched out his hand, so that everyone could see what he was holding.

Yasha froze.

Stepan panicked.

Anton stood up with a triumphant grin on his face, holding high the golden egg that just had appeared in his palm.

“Guess the tables have turned.” He all but giggled madly.

Yasha and Stepan stared at the shimmering vessel of Yasha's soul. The Tsarevich now knew they were in trouble. Still hiding behind his shield, he put his other hand in his bag, clutching Sam's feather and sent out a silent, urgent call for help. Hopefully, his brother-in-law was fast enough to prevent the inevitable. Or everything would be in vain.

Anton looked at his prizes.

“Okay, I’ll give you one last chance. Styopa, be my Prince consort in Sil'no and I’ll let my nephew live. Of course, I’d have to imprison him again.” He offered graciously.

Stepan narrowed his eyes and spit at the God.

“Khuy tebe!” he hissed.

Anton shook his head.

“Feisty, feisty. Of course, I’ll do that. In our wedding night…” he giggled again.

Stepan looked at Yasha. The Immortal had not only lowered his sword, but also his head. The blond man could tell that the Winter Tsar was seriously considering his Uncle’s offer.

“Yasha, you cannot be serious.” He cried.

He couldn’t see Yasha's face, because it was hidden by his hair. But the Immortal’s shoulders were shaking silently.

“It's for the best, Kukla. I don’t want you to get hurt because of me.” He whispered. It broke Stepan's heart.

“Yasha...” Stepan whispered back, tears welling up in his blue eyes. Why does fate have to be so cruel? They had almost made it.

Suddenly, two shrill cries sounded from above and the grey sky was coloured in every shade of red and orange and golden. Stepan's head snapped up and he cried in relief, when he saw two firebirds heading their way. The larger bird attacked Anton, while the slightly smaller one grabbed the egg and flew towards Stepan, letting it fall in his free hand before landing in front of him.

Stepan could hear Anton swearing in the background, but his thankful gaze rested on the Zharp-titsa in front of him. Somehow it looked familiar.

“Natasha? Is that you?” the Tsarevich whispered. The firebird cocked his head in a way that Stepan knew too well. He fell on his knees and embraced his sister, while he began to weep bitterly, all the stress of the past few days finally catching up with him. Natasha nudged him in an affectionate way.

Meanwhile, Yasha had realized what had happened and saw his love crying while embracing a firebird. He got angry. This was all his Uncle’s fault. He had upset Stepan and had to pay for that. The Winter Tsar stormed forwards and punched Anton in the face, while screaming:

“THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT! YOU MADE STEPAN CRY.”

Punch.

“GET THE HELL OUT OF MY TSARDOM…”

Punch.

“…OR I’LL SICK MY FATHER ON YOU.”

Another Punch.

Completely woozy, Anton somehow grabbed Rhodey and heaved him onto his stallion, before heaving himself on his mare. Throwing Yasha one last dirty glance, he grabbed his and Rhodey’s horse’s reins and galloped away.

Yasha took a deep breath and let his sword fall into the snow, before he turned and joined Stepan and the two firebirds.

“Hey, Sam. It's good to see you. And you must be Nat, Kukla’s sister.” He greeted the Zharp-titsas, before he turned his attention to Stepan. The blond still sniffled and couldn’t help but throwing himself into the Immortal’s arms. Yasha buried his face into Stepan's fine hair.

“It's over, Kukla. They won’t be coming if they know what’s good for them.” The Immortal whispered. Stepan nodded silently, before he let go of his love and showed him the egg.

“Nat gave it to me. What do we do now with it? It's too dangerous to keep it here.” He explained.

Yasha nodded. “You’re right.” He agreed, before he turned to the firebirds, who had watched them with amusement in their eyes. “Sam, can you bring this to my mother? She needs to hide it better this time.”

Sam nodded and nudged Natasha, gesturing to her that they were leaving now. Both birds flew right in the air above them, circling around above their heads, before Sam shot down, grabbed the egg with his talons and joined his wife again. One last circle and they were off, going back to Buyan.

Stepan and Yasha were finally alone.

“So, does that mean you will stay with me?” Stepan asked hopefully.

Yasha laughed.

“Kukla, now you won’t get rid of me. Ever.” He promised and sealed it with a kiss.

❄✯❄

About a month after Yasha’s return to his Tsardom, Stepan and the Winter Tsar finally united their Tsardoms to Bruklin Morje. With Yasha's return, many people, who had lived there before, also came back and it began to flourish again.

Their wedding was even more impressive than the triple wedding of his sisters. Stepan was overjoyed when his siblings arrived together with their spouses to help with the preparations. He was even more excited, when Jane told him that he was going to be an uncle in less than seven months.

Yasha couldn’t help but laugh when his fiancé almost hugged the life out of his poor sister. To be honest, he had been a little bit afraid that Stepan’s sisters wouldn’t accept him. But apparently, his sisters were cast in the same mould as Stepan and being married to deities and magical beings had helped them a lot to understand his background.

On the other side, Stepan was anxious to meet Yasha's family. Morena wasn’t as bad as some people depicted her. She was such a sweet person and took an instant shine to Stepan and his sisters. Even Yasha's father wasn’t that evil, maybe just a bit on the grumpy side. Stepan couldn’t blame him. He’d be grumpy, too, if someone depicted him as evil incarnate.

Perun, Yasha's uncle and one of the topmost Gods, performed the ceremony himself and the reception after was a celebration for everyone, whether it was common folk, nobility or divine beings.

Stepan and Yasha ruled wisely and just for many years, one half of the year in Bruklin and the other half in Zimnii Morje, whereby Wanda held her role as proxy in that part of the Tsardom, in which Stepan and Yasha weren’t present.

And many, many years later, after their children already had children, the two men joined Yasha's family on the Island of Buyan, home of the Gods, and lived happily ever after.

As for Svarog, he was banished from the Island for a millennium and was forced to spend it alone with only his Domovye as company. Triglav, once he had recovered, visited him as often as he could so that the God of Fire didn’t sulk too much.

And from where do I know that?

Because I was at the wedding, ate too much meat and drank too much wine, but still managed to have a good time.

Конец!

❆✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the end. I hope you enjoyed my little foray into the world of Russian Fairy Tales and Slavic Mythology. As always, you can find me on [Tumblr](http://terrenis.tumblr.com). See you there!
> 
> ❆✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄✯❄
> 
> Glossary and Translations:
> 
> **Sil’no** \- Stark
> 
> **Zimnii Morje** \- Winter Sea
> 
> **Bruklin** – Brooklyn
> 
> **Swamp Kikimora** – Female Swamp Spirit
> 
> **Leshii** – Male Guardian Spirit of the Forest, Enemy of the Baba and rumoured to be married to the Swamp Kikimora
> 
> **Krasnaya Khizhina** – Red Hut - > the Baba’s pet name for her home
> 
> **Schmidt** – The Baba’s pet cat; black fur with a red, skull-like face
> 
> **Zola** – The Baba’s pet pig
> 
> **Khuy tebe!** – Fuck you!
> 
> **Perun** – Slavic god of Thunder and Lightning
> 
> **Veles** – Perun’s serpentine arch nemesis; Shapeshifter
> 
> **Khanjali** \- double-edged dagger often with a single off-set groove on each face of the blade
> 
> **Dorogaya** – Darling
> 
> **Synov'ya suki!** – Sons of a bitch!
> 
> **Blyad'** – Fuck
> 
> **Mudak** – asshole
> 
> **Metla** – Broom
> 
> **Dyadya** – Uncle
> 
> **Rurik** – Early, straight sword of Viking descent
> 
> **Конец** – The End

**Author's Note:**

> Used Terms, Phrases and People:
> 
>  
> 
> **Sil’no** \- Stark
> 
> **Zimnii Morje** \- Winter Sea
> 
> **Bruklin** \- Brooklyn
> 
> **Sarafan** \- a traditional, sleeveless women's dress, usually worn over a long-sleeved shirt
> 
> **yeye dva** \- You two
> 
> **Njet** \- No
> 
> **Zhar-ptitsa** \- a magical glowing bird from Slavic folklore
> 
> **Koról** \- King
> 
> **Kokoshnik Tiara** \- crescent-shaped tiara made of gold or silver, usually gemmed 
> 
> **Shashka** \- special kind of sabre; a very sharp, single-edged, single-handed and guardless sword with a slightly curved
> 
> **Otjets** \- Father


End file.
